Stay Alive
by Nothing Really Specific
Summary: In a society where nostalgia is frowned upon and cartoons are virtually dead, one hopeful cartoon character attempts to recapture the spirit of imagination and hope in a family that is falling apart at the seams. Sometime in the future, I hope to make this a short film. (Sequel: "Gone Forever North")
1. Chapter 1

**_Stay Alive_**

_And I will wait for you tonight. You're here forever and you're by my side. I've been waiting all my life, to feel your heart as it's keeping time. We'll do whatever just to stay alive. Dawn is coming, open your eyes. Dawn is coming, open your eyes._

- "Stay Alive" by José González (from "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Official Soundtrack")

**Chapter I**

"James, could you please get the cat clock from the basement?" He mother asked. James, who was on the phone with her, was wearing his favorite t-shirt, a white shirt with red sleeves. The classic baseball shirt. His hair was black, a bit matted, as if he just got out of bed. It was noon on a Friday. June 12th, present day.

James walked barefooted through the house, which was an open concept first floor with a kitchen and dining room to your right, a formal room to your left a living room to the back and a staircase in the middle that lead to the bedrooms. The walls were covered in white paint and hard wood flooring, having no life whatsoever. There wasn't a single poster, picture, or anything on the walls. The floor had rugs and such things but other than that the house was plain and rather boring.

James began to think of the baseball game that was coming on later. The White Sox versus The Yankees. James was a Yankees fan. As he entered the formal room, the room with the expensive furniture. The leather couch imported from Greece, the leather sofa imported from Egypt. The Spanish carpet, the only carpet on the first floor, and the historic looking walls made the room feel like a forgotten portion of the White House. A baby piano next to a large window near the front of the house was present also. A beautiful instrument of grace and concert history, this baby grand felt like the bigger cousin. He used to play like one. The piano remembered symphonies, the minuets, the chords of the likes of Gershwin, Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin, his favorite.

James looked the piano, noticing that it looked like someone had been playing it rather recently. The piano was prepared to play, the keys were showing and the top was up, revealing the inner workings. "Strange," James said, walking over to the instrument, "this piano never gets used." He pulled the cover over the piano keys and put the top down. "I wonder who was playing it." A draft. The window next to the piano was open. James closed it.

James opened the basement door and walked down the old, creepy horror movie staircase to a room full of boxes and large picture frames. These large picture frames were placed to where the backs were shown, as if the person was ashamed of the pictures that were inside them. The boxes were no better. They were placed in a careless fashion, stacked up on top of one another, looking something out of _The Lorax_. The contents of these precariously placed boxes were knick-knacks. Ranging from figurines to snow globes, all the way to 1920's nostalgia that was gathered at an estate sale in Southern California, these forgotten pieces collected multiple layers of dust that probably spawned the life of the figurines the layers sat on. In the middle of the room was a lone box, in this box were two things: a Kit-Cat Klock, with a tail extending from the bottom that if in working condition would move from side to side, making the iconic ticking sound and an old film projector that had a film reel in it.

James walked over to the lone box and picked up the clock. The clock was, like everything else in the room, covered with dust but still kept its smile, the hopeful object in the room. A black cat with a winning and encouraging smile on the top, a bowtie, the body making up the actual clock face surrounded by four paws, and the tail extending downward. As he was about to walk back upstairs, he noticed the box with the film projector, shrugged his shoulder for a moment, taking little interest and walked back up the stairs. The film projectors could smile, this one was smiling like his friend the Kit-Kat Klock. Big, happy, and hopeful.

James walked into the kitchen, carrying the dusty old clock with him. He pulled out his cell phone, a flip phone, his parents were firm believers in them, and called his mother back again. "Hey Mom it's me," he said, "I found the clock, what do you want me to do with it?"

"See if it works," she said, "and then put it up on the wall, near the piano maybe."

"Up on the wall, but Mom, isn't that against the law now?" James said. "It's a clock James." His mother said and hung up on him. James sighed and walked over to the kitchen table, placed the clock on it, walked over to the drawer with the batteries, pulled out a Phillips screwdriver and began some clock surgery. He flipped the clock on its face, removed the battery cover, and replaced the batteries. The tail started moving back and forth. "Good," James said, satisfied, "it works." He flipped the clock over, and noticed that the eyes, the second and minute hand, and obviously the tail began to move. "Creepy little thing." James said and walked over to the requested spot. A nail was already on the wall, from a previous picture that had hung there so James naturally recycled. He positioned and straightened it out so that it wouldn't be crocked and looked at it for a moment, as if he were expecting it to do something else. After a few moments of the clock being what it was, James sighed and walked into the living room to turn on the television. Completely unaware of was really going on...

The Kit-Cat Clock looked around, his eyes moving robotically from left to right, his mouth in that constant Barbie doll like smile, and his tail swaying from left to right making an annoying ticking sound. Eventually, the clock stopped doing all of his machine functions and moved his pupils in normal human like circles. He moved his mouth next, also in circles, and finally his tail, also in circles. Looking to his left, the clock noticed someone was sitting at the piano, a very old and dear friend of his. "Why," Kit said in his endearing enthusiastic voice, "if it isn't my compadre and amigo. Panchito Pistoles!" He laughed. "How are things?" The rooster, who was indeed sitting at the piano, smiled at the clock. "Fine Candy Bar," Panchito answered, laughing at his little joke, "how's life in a box?"

"Horrible." Kit replied, "Film Projector won't talk to me anymore, and you know how much of a conversationalist I am."

"Why won't he talk to you?" Panchito asked.

"He says he going through a state of depression. It makes sense really, we're all like that down there. Anyway, the posters and figurines are very talkative, but I can never seem to get to them. At they they're conversations are half way interesting, or at least they were."

"Really?" Panchito asked. "What did they used to talk about?"

"Oh how they came about, who they are, where they came from. They've memorized lexicons and have stories drilled in their heads. Fascinating people." Kit replied, curling up his tail and moving his head in the rooster's direction. "All I do is sit around all day. There's really not much else. So," he said, flipping the tables, "how's life being a ghost?"

Panchito smiled, "It's like if Jacob Marley, Davy Jones, and Mary Queen of Scots got together and had some tea."

"So, it keeps you occupied?" Kit asked. Panchito nodded, "It does, but when people start talking, it gets pretty heated. So I headed here to get away from all that business."

Kit swung his tail and nodded, lifting his head from the wall and turning towards the rooster, and asked a question. "Why are you here Panchito?"

"I wanted to see you Senor Kit as well as everyone else," Panchito said, "I can't visit my friends anymore?"

"No," Kit replied, "it's just, you've been gone for so long and-"

"And what?" Panchito asked.

"Nothing." Kit said rather quickly, moving his tail from side to side and reverted himself back to robotic mode. Panchito sighed, got up from the piano and walked over in front Kit, looking at him as if he wanted an answer. "And what?" The rooster asked again. The clock said nothing, acting like he had been for years. Panchito pulled out his pistols, which he always had with him, spun them around in his habitual two rotations and aimed it at the clock's clock face. Kit saw this and became animated once again, "Alright, no need to get feisty." Kit said. "Finish your sentence Kit." Panchito said, still aiming the pistols at him. The clock nodded, "We've gotten the impression," he said, "that no one cares about us anymore. That no one believes in us anymore. Look at me, I'm a Kit-Cat Klock from 1981. 1981! I'm as old as Mario for Christ's sake. Let's face it, I'm a museum piece."

"You are a museum piece." Panchito replied.

"Exactly! I haven't seen this room in twenty years. Why Martha's all grown up now and has two kids. I missed all of it," Kit sighed, letting his tail droop and hang, "I used to see everything you know. I used to be useful, I used to mean something. Now look at me, I'm stuck on a wall next to a piano." Panchito nodded, understanding the feeling, "I know what you mean Kit." He said, "When Bob shredded my concept drawings I didn't know what to do, I tried getting other jobs but there was no luck. I became a lonely sack of pity, until three years ago."

"What changed?" Kit asked, wanting to know a life secret that Panchito could possibly pass along to him. "I found a hobby," Panchito answered, "piano playing."

Kit was surprised at this, he perked up, his smile returned, and his tail showed enthusiasm. "You play?" Panchito nodded, "Well come on," Kit said excitedly, "let me here something."

"Alright," the rooster said and walked over back to the piano seat. As he was about to sit down Kit had a brilliant idea. "Hey wait," Kit said, noticing the basement door was closed. "I have an idea. Can you open the door, I'm sure the others would like to here too." Panchito smiled and complied. As the door opened, he heard voices talking about their day, their lives, their dreams, how they wished they could be used and loved again, instead of being thrown into dark recesses. The rooster peered his head in, some of the knick-knacks saw him and smiled, "Hey guys look, it's old Panchito come back to see us!" Soon all the knick-knacks grew excited and started calling to him, "Hey Panch how's life treating ya?"

"Hey look it's El Desperado himself! How've you been?"

"Hey Panchito, you look good for a guy whose practically seventy."

Panchito laughed and waved his hand, "Ahola mi amigos, thought you could use some musical enlightenment." He said. "Oh," a snow globe of a polar bear said, "I wonder if he's going to sing?"

"Yeah, it makes sense if he does that." A horse replied.

"Whatcha gonna do Panch?" A small archer figurine with a drawn bow said. "You'll see Senor Hood," Panchito said and walked back towards the piano. Kit smiled, "They think the world of you." Panchito nodded as he sat down, "I know," he said, with a sigh, "that's what scares me."

"Why is that?" Kit asked.

"I'll tell you later." Panchito said and began playing Chopin's _Etude Op. 10, No. 3 (Tritesse)_.

James, who was too busy watching baseball to notice any of the conversation between Kit and the rooster, noticed the piano playing. He didn't really care that someone, whoever it was, his sister maybe, for she did know how to play, she just didn't do it enough, so James figured that there was a blue moon somewhere in the world and she was practicing. But he knew that she wasn't that good, and that whoever was playing the piano, did so which such grace, beauty, and poise that it was as if the composer where playing it himself. James muted the television and listened to the music, closing his eyes for a moment. Panchito was virtuoso, the notes were perfect, the emphasis was flawless, the tempo was poetic, the imagery the chords created were composers' intent. "Wow," Kit said, impressed, "where did you learn how to play like that?" He asked after an intense portion of the song. Panchito smiled, "Lessons."

James, who was paying attention and head the conversation, grew a bit nervous for he had never heard these voices before. Concerned, he walked into the living room slowly, making sure not to cause the floor to creak. Walking on the carpet now, James walked over to Panchito's side and looked at his hands and then at the rooster's face, back at his hands, and then Panchito's face, behaving like a confused bird. When the song was over, Panchito sighed, put the cover over the piano and turned, jumping a bit as he saw James. "Oh," the rooster said, "I'm sorry, you scared me." The rooster laughed. James backed away slowly in fear, shaking his head, "No, I think you got it the other way around." He tripped over the couch, falling backwards on it. Panchito smiled, walked over and helped the boy up. "There you go," Panchito said, "allow me to introduce myself," he cleared his throat, "my name is Panchito Romero Miguel Junipero Francisco Quintero González III," he took a breath, "but you can call me Panchito Pistoles." James just stood there, a bit perplexed, "I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked. Panchito laughed, "Panchito." The rooster said. "Right," James said with a smile, "that's what I thought you said. Excuse me for a moment, my phone is ringing, I'll be right back." James exited the room and hurried into the kitchen.

He opened every single drawer, he was looking for a pan. James searched through silverware drawers, cabinets, even the fridge. Alas, the pan was not there. "Where is it? Where is it!?" He cried.

Panchito, who heard all the commotion, "Something wrong?" He said, as he was filing his fingernails. James huffed and puffed back into the formal room. "What's up?" The rooster asked putting the file away in his shirt sleeve and pulling out a pad and paper. "What are you doing?" James asked. Panchito shrugged his shoulders, "I like playing therapist, come now, tell me, what's going on?"

James was astonished, for he never seen anyone pull something from their shirt sleeve before. "You pulled that out from your shirt sleeve?" Panchito nodded, "Yeah, I got a bunch of stuff in there. I'm like a walking house."

"You got any kitchen supplies?" James asked. "Sure," Panchito said putting away the pen and paper, "I got basically everything. Anything specific?"

"Got a pan?"

Panchito smiled and put up two fingers with his left hand and walked them through his right sleeve. "Let's see," he said, walking his fingers through his shirt, twisting his rather flexible rubber like arm around his neck and body, "it's not in the kitchen department." He walked his fingers across the back of his neck and down his left arm. "It's not in the home, grocery or cosmetics." He reverted back to normal. James laughed, the ultimate goal that Panchito was going for. He looked inside his red bolero jacket, placing his entire head inside. "Alright, let's check the-," he bumped his head, "alright, that's the heart," he looked left and then right, "hmm...it wouldn't be in books, it wouldn't be in movies." His head ventured further, entering his pants, "I have ventured into adult content." James laughed again. "Strange." Panchito put his hands on his neck and pulled himself out. "I don't seem to have a pan anywhere." Panchito shrugged, "Lo siento. Oh wait," he felt something that was digging up against his back, "Now I remember," he pulled out a pan from behind him. It was stuck up against his back in between his body and his jacket. "Here you go." He handed the pan to James who smiled and said. "Thanks Panchito." The rooster bowed and removed his sombrero. "Any time," Panchito said warmly, "what do you need it for?"

"Oh nothing," James said smiling slyly and shifting his weight around on his feet like Daffy Duck. "Just so I could do this!" He lifted the pan and banged Panchito on the head with it. Panchito fell down to the floor. He laughed, unmoved by the pain, despite the massive headache and eventual bruise and bump. "I see you've been taking tips from Senor Duck." The rooster said laughing, "Ah, he's a good fellow, a bit screwball, but a good fellow."

"I'm sorry but who are you talking about?" James asked. Panchito looked at him, still smiling, "You've got to be joking right?" James shook his head, he had no idea what he was talking about. James walked over to the piano and placed the pan on it. "Are you telling me," Panchito said standing up, brushing himself off, turning around and straightening his jacket. He walked towards James, and got into his face, "That you've _never_ heard of Donal' Duck?" The rooster asked. "Who's Donal' Duck?" James replied. Kit sighed, "Are you serious!" James turned around, looking at Kit and screamed his head off. "Did you just talk?" James asked. "Yeah," Kit replied, "wait, you're surprised by a talking clock but aren't even swayed by a talking rooster?" James looked at Panchito again who simply waved. James moved toward the sofa and took a seat, "I watch way too much TV." He said. Panchito laughed, "Although that's true," he walked towards the piano again, "you're not dreaming."

"Yeah," Kit said, "this is real." James shook his head and walked towards the wall, "Maybe it's defective or something." James said as he grabbed Kit with his hands, "Wait," Kit said in protest, "what are you doing?" He asked. "Taking you off the wall." James said. "No!" Kit started to say, too late. James took him off the wall. As soon as he did, the clock reverted to normal. The eyes swiveled from left to right, the tail moved robotically from left to right, and the smile was back, as if nothing had happened. James looked over at the piano and saw that Panchito was also no longer there. "Weird." James said, and put the clock back on the wall, hoping that it wouldn't talk back to him. It didn't happen.

"Don't do that!" Kit said.

"What the hel-"

"Ah," Panchito said, "language." James looked over and saw Panchito there once again. "What's going on here?" James asked, confused out of his mind. Panchito smiled and walked over to him, "Do it again." Panchito ordered. "Panchito," Kit replied, "I don't wanna -"

Panchito put his hand over the cat's mouth. "Shut up Kit." He turned towards James, "Remove the clock." Panchito said removing his hand. "I have a name you know." Kit said looking at the rooster annoyingly. Panchito rolled his eyes. "Just take Kit down." He said. James nodded and removed Kit from the wall. Once again, the clock reverted back to its original state and the rooster disappeared. James put the clock back on the wall. Once again, the same result as before.

"Would you mind keeping up here?" Kit asked. "I've been sitting in a box for twenty years, your Mom didn't tell you to get me just so I could be another dust collector."

"How do you know about that?" James asked. "I have ears you know." Kit said smiling slyly towards him. "Hey Panchito!" Someone called from downstairs. "Tell the kid to cool it won't ya?"

"What's going on here?" James said, repeating his question. "It's kinda hard to explain," Panchito said. "But all you gotta do is walk down there."

"Walk down there?"

Panchito nodded and pushed James towards the door, James protested. "Hey, stop that, let me go!" He fought back which only made Panchito carry him under his arm. "Come on James," Panchito said, walking to the basement door. "Let's go."

"Wait, how do you know my name?" James asked. "Let's just say I know things?" The rooster said, looking down at the massive amount of forgotten trinkets and things. "You guys ready?" He called. "Yes!" The trinkets replied. Panchito stood James up on his feet, the boy began to brush himself off. "There's no need for that," Panchito said, getting behind him. "Why?" James asked. "Because you're just going to get dirty again." Panchito said backing up against the wall. "Again," James said, "why?"

"Sorry about this but," Panchito answered, got a very quick running start, and kicked James, sending him down the stairs. That done, the rooster brushed his hands off as if they were covered in chalk and sighed. "You'll thank me later." He closed the door as he entered the formal room again.

"You didn't have to do that you know." Kit said looking at his friend with skeptical eyes. "I hated doing it," Panchito said, "but it had to be done."

"To mimic his word, why?" Kit asked. Panchito placed his hands on the clock, "All part of a plan Kit." He said. "Wait, no, Panchito, don't, this is crazy, this is crazy!" Kit said. Panchito nodded, "I know, so crazy that it just might work." Panchito slowly quickly grabbed Kit from the wall and threw him towards the couch before disappearing.

The clock landed safely on the couch, tail still ticking, eyes still moving robotically. It was one thirty on a Friday. June 12th, present day the moment everything changed, because at one-thirty on that particular Friday, the piano for the first time in his life, felt loved, felt like he was useful. He was hoping that whoever it was that played him so beautifully and flawlessly earlier would come back.

Don't worry piano, it's only chapter one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II:**

James opened his eyes. In front of him was a box with a film projector and a few film reels inside. There was a note on the outside of the box, a lone sticky note with James' name on it. James got up, examined himself, noticed nothing seriously and picked up the box. He shrugged his shoulders like he did before and with box in hand, walked up the stairs.

Placing the box on the piano, and still thinking that Kit was on the wall, James began talking...to himself.

"Hey, what's in this box?" He asked.

No answer. "Guys?" James said, he looked at the wall and saw it empty. James looked around and saw that Kit somehow got on the couch. Luckily, James thought, he isn't broken. James walked over, picked Kit back up, and placed him back on the wall. "Look," Kit said, "there has to be some kind of agreement here."

"Like what?" James said. "Oh how about, stop talking me off the wall!" Kit yelled. "Kit behave yourself." Panchito said. James looked over and once again, the rooster was sitting at the piano. James looked at the box again, "What's in this box?" He asked again. The film projector, who couldn't speak in words, began to click and clatter, doing his mechanics to help James' thought process. "He's a film projector," Kit explained, "he's getting eager."

"Why is that?" James said. Kit rolled his eyes, "Because he hasn't been used since your grandparents were kids," he said, "are you gonna use him or not?"

"I honestly don't see the point," James replied, "I have a television in the living room with all the shows I like to watch." Panchito nodded, "Yes but do you have some of the greatest cartoons on your precious televisor?" James looked at him, a bit confused. "It's television."

"Si," Panchito said, "that's what I said."

"No you didn't." James replied.

"You don't know basic Spanish do you?" Panchito asked. "What the he-"James started to say, when Panchito looked at him like a parent would of a disapproving action. "Heck," James corrected. Panchito nodded, and rotated his hand in a circular motion, asking James to continue. "Is Spanish?" James finally asked. "What?!" Panchito cried with amazement, "I'm almost insulted!" He sat up from the piano and started pacing the floor. "I'm flabbergasted, simply amazed that you don't know what Spanish even is! I mean I understand not being able to comprehend or speak it but you don't even know what it is, that's just sad. It's fu-," he stopped himself, remembering his personal rule, "it's sad." He stopped pacing. "It's probably the saddest thing I've ever heard, what do they teach you in la escuela these days?" Panchito asked. "History, math, science, and college prep work." James asked. "Why, it's just every other escuela, whatever that means, I'm guessing that's Spanish for school?" Panchito nodded, "Yeah," he sat down on the couch. James sat down next to him, "do you have art?" The rooster asked.

"Nope."

"Okay," Panchito said, "how about music?" He asked again, hoping that music, the one thing that he came to love, was taught still, since art was out of the picture. "Nope, no music." James answered. "Are you serious?" Panchito asked. James nodded. "Is there a law against it or something?" James nodded again. "It was put into place a long time ago so I've been told. Pretty soon books will be outlawed, and then the television." James said, shuttering a little. "They can't do that, it's unconstitutional!" Panchito cried in protest. "No it's not," James said, "it was passed by Congress, which is now run by businesses."

"Which businesses?" Panchito asked. "Wal-Mart and Disney." James said. Panchito laughed. "What's so funny?" James asked a bit confused. "Disney, running Congress? If the law is on what you say it is, then how can Disney run Congress. Art and Music is all they do!"

"What are you talking about?" James said, "Disney doesn't do that."

"Yes they do." Panchito said, "I know, I used to work for them."

"Well, you must've worked for them a hundred years ago, because this Disney Company doesn't do anything except file tax reports, do insurance and make products for China." James replied. "Wait, didn't China used to do that for the United States?" Panchito asked. "I guess," James said, "but ever since the war things have been different."

"War?"

James nodded, "Yeah, there was a war back in the 1990's and early 2000's or whatever, apparently it shifted power between China and the United States, now China rules the world."

"So," Panchito said, "the government is basically a business that doesn't believe art and music are fundamentals anymore because it causes creativity, which is apparently against business policy?"

"Sure," James replied, "whatever." He walked from the formal room back into the living room and turned up the volume on the television. Panchito watched him enter the room.

"What are you thinking?" Kit asked.

"I'm thinking," Panchito said, "that we break out the Film Projector." He said. The film projector clicked with happiness. Panchito walked over to the piano and grabbed the film projector, carefully placing it steady on the floor and turned it on to see if it worked. It did. The wall lit up. The projector eagerly awaited to show the glories he held in his mind, the memories he had conveniently stored in the same box as him. Panchito sat on the floor, he smiled at the projector, patted it a little for encouragement and fished in his sleeve. He pulled out a portable screen. He sat the tripod up, stood up, walked towards the wall and set the screen up. "There." Panchito said.

"That's very nice Panchito," Kit said, "but do you really think that these people are going to care? I mean look at me! They haven't touched me in twenty years, what makes you think they'll look at this projector any different?"

"Don't worry Kit," Panchito replied, "Like I said, it's all part of a plan."

"What plan?" Kit asked. Panchito smiled and walked over to his friend, "To tell you the truth, I wasn't being completely honest with you earlier." He said. "I came for a bigger reason then just to see you Kit."

"You came to what, save me?" Kit asked.

"Something like that." Panchito answered, looking back at James who was still watching the football game. "Possibly him too." Kit laughed. "You're not going to get through to these people Panchito, I know. I may have been downstairs, but I have been paying attention. These people aren't friendly to nostalgia, or cartoons, or anything creative at all."

"Por que?" The rooster asked, pulling out his pack of chewing gum, which was his replacement for cigarettes. He put a stick in his mouth. "Want one?" Panchito asked, holding another stick of gum out to Kit who just looked at him with his deadpan face. "Oh yeah, you're a clock."

"Yeah," Kit replied, "anyway the father's a corrupt cop who's strict about the law. No funny business with him."

"How is he corrupt if he's strict about the law?" Panchito asked.

Kit rolled his eyes, "He works for the government, which is corrupt."

Panchito nodded, "Alright, what about the mother?"

"She's one of those 'it's okay to have one creative thing in the house'. That's really the only reason I'm up here. I used to be in her room when she was growing up." Kit said, "We would talk about our lives. She would talk about school and the boys she dated, while I kept watch of her brother who was always in her room and told the rat to keep out of the kitchen." The clock sighed, "That was a long time ago, anyway, I think she's developed a problem."

"What sort of problema?" Panchito asked.

"She's an alcoholic. When she gets drunk, which is often, she gets angry, and when she angry, which is every time she gets drunk, she becomes abusive...to James." Kit said.

"No niño has to suffer through that." Panchito said. The baseball game went to commercial. Panchito turned around and saw that James was entering the kitchen, "What you guys doing?" He asked. "Oh nothing much," Panchito said, "just watching some cartoons."

"That's illegal." James said, looking at the rooster scornfully. "Since when did watching cartoons become a crime?" The rooster asked. "I already told you," James said, "the same time everything else became a crime. You're basically a felon. If my father catches you, you'll be killed."

"What, jail is cut out of the picture now?" Panchito said a bit disturbed, for he realized that he would have to face James' parents sooner or later. "Yeah," James replied, "according to the government, you're a terroristic threat."

"A terroristic threat!" Panchito cried, " Eso es imposible! I haven't done anything to anybody. This is injustice, this is inhumane, they can't do that to me. What exactly have I done?"

"_You_ didn't do anything." James said, walking back to the living. Panchito sighed and followed the kid into the living room. James sat down on the couch, Panchito stood behind the couch, reached over from behind, grabbed the remote and turned the television off. "Hey!" James said, "We were about to win and the game's almost over, I'm gonna miss it because of you!" he cried, sitting up on his knees turning towards the rooster. "Lo siento," Panchito said, "besides it's recording. Just tell answer my question please."

"Alright," James said, rolling his eyes a bit, "what's your question?"

"What exactly have I done to be considered a terroristic threat?"

"Like I told you," James replied, "_you_ didn't do anything. It's just cartoons in general, they don't want people to think for themselves. Thinking is stupid anyway, who would want to think when they have everything figured out. There aren't any worries anymore, there aren't any deadlines, everything is set into the system of logic. The only thing that doesn't make logical sense is music, art, and cartoons. You're all crazy has-beens."

"Then why have the piano?" Panchito asked. "I don't know," James answered, "it's used as a table. The only person who's used that thing in the last twenty or so years is you, and that was less than two hours ago. Why don't you just go bother somebody else?"

Panchito nodded and dropped his head, "Normally I would but you see," he shuffled his feet around, "I can't."

"Wait, are you saying that I'm stuck with you?" James asked. "No, your _family_ is stuck with me." Panchito corrected. James looked up at the ceiling rather annoyed and said."Why me? Why now? Why this moment? Why not just kill me now?" The rooster looked up at the ceiling, then at James, and back at the ceiling. "I don't know who you're talking to but I'll go along with it." Panchito looked up at the ceiling. "Carol Anne, go towards the light!" James looked at the rooster and laughed again. Still looking up at the ceiling the rooster continued, "Hey look a falling light," Panchito said, moving his head down as if he were following an imaginary light that was falling from the sky. "Oh and it landed at Jim Carrey's feet. He's inspecting it, and," Panchito looked up at James, "guess what?"

"What?" James asked, smiling, amused.

"It's just a ceiling. It can't talk back." Panchito said. James heard the noise of the projector, "What's that?" He asked. "Film projector," Panchito said, "Ven," the rooster motioned for James to follow him into the formal room, "I want to show you something." James shrugged his shoulders and walked into the room.

"Sit down on the couch," Panchito said, "and watch." James did so. The film projector was showing old cartoons from the 1940's and 1950's. At the moment, a Donald Duck cartoon was playing, _Der Fuehrer's Face_. Panchito turned up the sound by moving a small knob on the side of the projector so that they could here. At first James was bored, seeing caricatures of the Axis Power leaders was nothing new, he already knew his history. "This is boring." James said. "Just keep watching, it gets better." Panchito said as he sat on the sofa across the room. James sighed in boredom the whole way through, agonizing at the old technology and looking at the adventures of a dead cartoon character. Panchito watched very closely at James' expression. He noticed that he was bored to tears, and to the thirteen year old, it was the worst thing he ever experienced. The cartoon ended. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen." James said. "Hopefully I can still make the last run of the game." The kid got up from his seat and made his way back into the living room. "Alright," Panchito said, a bit louder so that James could hear, "maybe it wasn't the best intro, but I'm telling you, these things are great." James ignored him, he just drowned him out by turning the television up.

"Smooth Panchito," Kit said, laughing a bit, "smooth."

Panchito looked at the cat clock and rolled his eyes, "Whatever, I haven't given up yet."

"I would've," Kit replied, Panchito got up from the sofa and fished in the projector box for another reel. Hopefully one with a better showcase. "You seriously think that you can change these people?" Kit asked. "Yes I do." Panchito answered. "Why even bother!"

"Because," Panchito said, "if I don't do something then it's all going to be gone Kit, and I don't mean gone as in put into storage, I mean gone, as in literally _gone_."

"What about the rest of us?" Kit asked a bit worried. "That's what I'm worried about." Panchito said. This was not the answer that Kit wanted to hear, "Why is that?" The clock asked. "I don't know what's going to happen to you Kit," Panchito answered, "but it can't be worse than what's coming my way."

"Which _is_?"

The rooster found another reel, walked across the floor, and put it in the projector. "Let me put it this way, if all of this is going to disappear, then what do you think is going to happen to me?" Panchito asked. Kit nodded and sighed, "The parents will be home soon."

"I know," Panchito said, "I want them to see it too. Maybe they can knock some sense into the kid."

"Haven't you listened to a single word I said?" Kit said. "No." The rooster said in a joking smile, "Don't worry, if they won't listen to me, they'll listen to you."

"What do you mean listen to me?" the clock asked.

"You'll see." Panchito replied, as he once again, pulled Kit off the wall and threw him on the sofa. A Bugs Bunny short, _A Wild Hare_, played in the projector.

The Yankees won. The score was 7-4.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III:**

**Note: Alcohol Reference and Mild Violence. **

* * *

A knocking at the door. A screaming woman. The film projector was still rolling. "James!" The woman said. "Open the door."

James, who was upstairs in his room, stampeded down the stairs and opened the door for his mother.

She was a woman of forty-four. Wrinkles dominated the corners of her eyes, her voice smelled of cigarette smoke, beer, wine, and a bit of whisky. She wore a red shirt, which was wine-stained. An empty wine glass in her right hand, a bottle of French wine from 1927 wedged into her right armpit. A cell phone was glued to her ear. It was very uncommon for this woman not to appear in this manner.

Staggering into the house, James' mother, whose name was Skye, made her way into the kitchen. It was simply a miracle that this woman could even walk at all. Walking in almost every direction but backwards, she sat the wine, the glass, and her purse which was dangling around her body on the table. She laughed as she continued her conversation. "So, I said to the man, 'You better get me that ring or I'll," she laughed again, falling to the floor. "You better get that ring or I'll be forced to, to," she trailed off, unable to say the words, 'use drastic measures'. "I'll call you later when I'm sober okay?" The other person didn't even have time to say goodbye before Skye hung up the phone.

"Hey Mom," James said walking in, "how was work today?"

Skye sighed, "Don't you have places to be?"

"Yes actually," James replied, getting the milk jug from the fridge, placing it on the counter, and getting a glass from the cabinet. "I have a baseball game today later."

The mother laughed, "Baseball game? Since when did you ever play baseball?"

"Since three years ago Mom." James replied, pouring himself some milk. He walked over to fridge.

"You know," his mother said, "you're not really good for anything."

"You're drunk again aren't you?" James asked, an obvious question. Skye nodded, "Yes dear," she closed her eyes and took a sigh, "Mommy's sorry about this. You know I don't mean it right?"

James nodded, but his head told him otherwise as he put the milk away and walked back into the living room, glass in hand. He once again, turned on the television.

The only other channel that the government allowed besides ESPN was the Weather Channel. So, his sports needs out of the way, James became watching a documentary about a hurricane that was currently making its way to Florida, the state in which they lived. "Hey Mom," James said, "there's gonna be a hurricane coming."

"Great," Skye said, not really caring. She slowly got up and walked into the living room to the best of her ability. "Maybe it'll tear this place down and take you with it." Her voice spoke of seriousness. It was the wine talking of course, James knew this, but it still hurt. Last week she told him to kill himself. Two years ago his brother, Malachi, who was seventeen, was murdered by his own mother. He wanted so much to be a musician. Specifically piano. The plan was to do a few covers, make an EP, do a couple of auditions, get signed under an independent label. That dream ended on a cold November night when Skye had been drinking and smoking too much...

* * *

She had about six cans of beer and three and a half cigarettes in her system. A cigarette was in her hand when she barged into Malachi's room and tore up everything. Journals full of songs, sheet music, love letters to his girlfriend, pictures, she even destroyed his guitar. "You know the law!" She screamed. "You know you can't be anything but a mechanist, that's on what they branded you, and that's on what you're going to be!"

"Maybe I don't want to live here Mom!" Malachi screamed, his voice louder than his mother's. "Maybe I don't want to live that life mother. Have you ever thought of that?" Skye began to rip up his schoolwork. "Hey Mom!" Malachi screamed again, grabbing his mother, trying to get her under control. "Control yourself okay?" She hit him, slapped him with her open palm hard on the right cheek.

"Ow, that hurt!" The boy said, letting the mother go as he backed off. "Good," his mother replied, "learn to respect your elders."

"What about me?" Malachi asked, tears rolling down his face.

Violent, militant steps followed. Skye forced her son up and punched him dead in the face. "Don't you dare say that to me!" Malachi staggered back towards his window. "Mom," he said, "you're not yourself, it's the beer talking, can you sit down for a moment?"

She took a drag of her cigarette, took a breath and calmed down. "Why Mal," she said, calling her son by his nickname. "why do you want to be a musician, out of all things why that!"

"Because I don't want to be a machine mother," Malachi said, sitting on his bed, "I want to create them. I want to build words, shape destinies, give hope, some type of future to this world!"

His mother smiled and sat down next to him. "This is the future Mal, you're in the future, the only left for them to do is kill us. That's it, we're born, we live like this, and then we die. There's no ambition. There's nothing. If you think you have one then you're dead wrong! Do you think you have ambition son?"

Malachi nodded. "Yes I do, I don't want to be run by the government, by you or by anyone else." He said, looking at her with sympathy, hoping that she understood him. "Well," his mother replied laughing a pity laugh, "good luck with that." She patted him on the back and left the room.

Two hours later, Mal was still picking up the mess when his mother re-entered the room, this time she was more drunk than before, a beer bottle in her hand. Loud music was playing, heavy metal, an addiction of the father, as well as a heavy aroma of cigar smoke, an addiction of both adults. Mal looked up from his floor. "Here to make me feel sorry about myself?" He asked. The mother said nothing, she simply walked into the room and looked at his bookshelf.

Titles like _The Hunchback of Notre-Dame_, _Paradise Lost_, _Hamlet_, _Julius Caesar_, _The Iliad, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The Three Musketeers, Alice in Wonderland, _and _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn _lined his shelves. Skye picked up _The Hunchback of Notre-Dame_, Mal's favorite book of all time, and purposefully poured beer all over it. She laughed. Mal stood up and reached for the bottle.

"Mom," he said, "I think it's time to start going to the AA Meetings again." His mother laughed and hit him again, this time with the beer bottle, "I'm fine!" She shouted. The door was open so she peered her head out, "Ain't that right?" She asked her husband.

"Your mother is fine!" The father replied. "She isn't going to no AA Meeting!" Malachi, who was bleeding in the face and had shards of glass lodged in his cheek, lay on the floor and cried. "Mom," he said, "why did you hit me?"

"I'm drunk honey," she replied, "and you should know better."

"I'm sorry." Malachi said. His mother nodded and took another swig of beer, gargled it, and spat it on her son's face. She laughed as she staggered out.

James, who was in his room, walked out because of the commotion. He saw Malachi on the floor. He rushed in, "Mal, what happened?"

"Don't go near Mom and Dad for a while," Malachi said. "Just stay in your room okay?"

"Should I call 911 first?" James asked.

Malachi nodded, "That would be best."

James pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number. "Hello," he said, "yes my brother is bleeding out on the floor."

_Okay, is he conscious?_ The operator asked.

"Yes."

_Can I speak to him please?_

James handed the phone to his brother to let him speak to the operator. He then, having nothing else to do, walked back to his room and locked the door.

911 never came. The reason is because of James' father, he wasn't just a cop, but he was chief of police, and in this town, it's the police, not the mayor who runs things. Malachi died the next morning from bleeding and infection. When James heard the news from his sober mother, he cried his eyes out and mourned for three weeks. All the while James' parents didn't seem to care, didn't seem to notice, as if nothing was wrong, as if they didn't realize what they were doing. Seeing nothing irregular about a drunken mother and a deadbeat father, as if every family in America were having the same situation, which would be an understatement...

* * *

James walked into the formal room, sitting on the couch. The mother followed him and stood behind the couch. "What's this garbage?" She asked rather suspiciously. James shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but it's better than listening to you."

"What did you say?" Skye said, walking around and kneeling to next on the floor. "I said," James replied, "It's better than listening to you!"

"That's what I thought you said." The mother answered, grabbing her son's arm forcefully. "Do you want to end up like your brother?"

"No." James replied. "No I don't."

"Just so you know," Sky said, "I knew exactly what I was doing that night. I may have been drunk, but I knew what I was doing."

James nodded slowly, "You know, that's not too difficult to believe."

Skye smiled and patted her son with her other hand on the head as if he were a dog. "Good boy." Skye said, as if James actually were a dog.

The cat clock began ticking, Kit's conscious was still working. His tail was waving wildly as if he were trying to grab the mother's attention. It worked.

Skye walked over to the couch and picked up the clock, examining it. "Well, it's Kit!" She exclaimed with a smile, "Thanks for picking him up for me James." She walked over to the wall and placed the clock in place.

"Why hello there!" Kit said with a smile and warm gracious voice. "It's been a long time."

The mother backed off, a bit dazed. "Alright, I think I need to stop drinking." She said as walked into the kitchen to drink some more wine and eventually pass out onto the floor hoping that it was just her head and not a reality.

Kit looked over and saw Panchito sitting in his default position, piano playing ready. "Hey," the clock said, "I think you're getting through to the kid." The rooster looked over and smiled, "Oh, I love this one." He said and situated himself to a comfortable position on the piano seat and watched.

It was a _Tom and Jerry_ episode called _"Casanova Cat" _in which Tom tries desperately to woo a rich girl into dating him. He of course, fails. Everything went fine and James actually smiled and laughed at this one, which made the rooster feel good about himself. He felt like the impossible mission could be achieved somehow. A glimmer of hope was emerging. There was only one problem, the volume on the projector was up.

"Aha!" Skye exclaimed from another room. "I knew it!" She quickly stormed in the room, armed with a halfway full wine bottle, drinking it as she moved around towards James. Panchito got up, sensing the trouble and was about three seconds from going on the defensive.

"Panchito, I really don't think that's a good idea." Kit advised, noticing that Panchito had his hand on his pistols.

"Well someone has to do something." The rooster said. He walked towards the mother, just as she raised the bottle in the air, about to strike.

"Please stop!" James screamed, he was curled up in a ball, looking like a fearful lost puppy.

Skye moved her arm down but she stopped when a pistol blocked the path. The mother opened her eyes, noticing the weapon in the way of her target. Her eyes moved down towards Panchito who looked at her pleading for some resolute.

"Put the wine down and get some sleep." Panchito advised. The mother laughed. "Alright, now I know it's the wine talking." The rooster placed his free hand on the mother's shoulder. Skye sighed, nodded slowly and went to her bedroom.

The rooster looked down at James and smiled before silently walking back to the piano and sitting down. "Thanks for the save." James said. Panchito smiled even bigger, Kit knew where this was going.

"Hey James," the clock said, "turn the volume on the projector all the way down." James nodded, got up and did so.

"Okay," James replied, "now what?"

"Just get comfortable, watch the screen and listen." Kit said. James shrugged his shoulders and sat down next to the projector.

The clock smiled, looked at the rooster and said, "He's ready."

Panchito nodded and began playing.

James did as instructed and watched the screen and listened to the somber, piano music. _Steamboat Willie_ had just started. Panchito struck the magic chord as soon as Mickey began whistling. James smiled, for some reason, the fear that was there moments before was now gone. It was as if it had never existed before in his life. Then Panchito began to sing the song that he knew would speak most to James, and the one that would stick with him for the rest of his life. As soon as the rooster started to play, James knew exactly on what song it was. It was the song his brother used to play him when he was down or sick. A song called _For You_.

_"If you're lost and feel alone. Circumnavigate the globe. All you have to hope, for two." _

James nodded, and began to cry a bit. Panchito struck a high note, which was to James the moment he realized what he was missing in his life. His family. His sister was never home, and when she was it was only for five minutes to ask for money. His mother is a drunk, his father is worse. Literal death threats, as in, attacking his children with knives and aiming guns at their heads threatening to end their lives was almost a weekly occurrence. All of these thoughts rushed through James' mind, nonetheless he watched Mickey and Minnie silently making music and looking happy. The feeling that James thought he would never reach again.

_"And the way you seem to float. Circumnavigate and hope. And they seem to lose control, with you."_

Panchito began playing the bridge, which was relatively long and thought inducing. He looked over at James and saw the boy's heart broken in front of him. Opposite feelings literally projected on the screen. This was the painful part, Panchito knew, but he realized what needed to be done in order for his plan to work.

James began to rock back and forth, holding himself close as he continued to watch the screen. _Popeye the Sailor Man_ came on.

_"Everyone of us is hurt, and everyone of us is scarred, everyone of us is scared. Not you." _Panchito emphasized the last part, hoping that James would get the message.

_"Your eyes closed._"

James had his eyes closed.

_"Your head hurts."_

James' head was fine but his heart wasn't. He smiled at the cartoon, even though he still thought this it was stupid, he figured that he was watching them to get his mind off his mother. So he smiled even more when Popeye finally ate the spinach. James had never seen Popeye before, but to him, seeing a cartoon character beat up his foes like that, made James feel like that he truly was invincible, that he could virtually anything.

_"Your eyes cast down."_

James laughed at Bluto's humiliation, and clapped silently to himself when Popeye saved Olive Oyl. Panchito looked over for a moment and could tell from behind that James was for the first in recent memory, relatively happy. The world that continued in the rest of the house and world stopped completely. There was only this moment, it was the only one that mattered, and Panchito intended to make that moment last even after this song was over. He sang the last verse.

_"Everyone of us is scared, everyone of us is hurt, everyone of has hope. For you." _

He played the song out beautifully.

The _Popeye_ cartoon stopped and the reel ended. James turned around, stood up and practically tackled the rooster to the ground. Panchito laughed, "Forget baseball," he said, "has anyone ever told you to consider football instead?" James smiled and hugged Panchito's neck. Tears rolled down his face, tears of gratefulness, acceptance, and appreciation.

"Thank you." James whispering, crying as he did so. Panchito embraced him back. James' tears got the rooster's chest wet, but he didn't care. Panchito just let it happen, realizing that he desperately wanted to take all the pain, all the misery, the regret, everything wrong in this kid's life and dismiss it into the world to be permanently executed.

"Can you promise me something?" James said, calming down a little.

"Of course." Panchito answered, feeling a bit moved that James would ask that particular question.

"Can you help my Mom and Dad?"

Panchito didn't hesitate to answer, "It would be a disservice if I didn't."

James smiled, satisfied with that answer. He got up and walked back into the living room. "By the way, I've heard that song before, but I don't know who sings it. Do you know?" James asked.

Panchito got up off the floor and dusted himself off, "Coldplay." He said, "They have a lot of songs like that, I'm not a particular fan myself, but I figured that you needed that one."

"Oh," James said, "why is that?"

The rooster smiled as he sat once again at the piano seat, "I think you already know the answer to that one James."

"Speaking of which," James said, "how do you know my name?"

The rooster laughed to himself, spun back around. He turned towards James, hinted a smile and began playing a different song. One of the most recognized and memorable pieces in all of piano history. _Heart and Soul_.

* * *

**Song: "For You" by Coldplay (I'll do this every time there's a song so that way I can give the artist credit and so that way you can find the songs if you want to.)**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter. **

**If you're crying or feeling anything right now, that's a good thing. You're supposed to but don't worry, the story perks up. It's not all going to be like this.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV:**

**Note: Some violence but nothing major**

* * *

James turned on the television again, news of the hurricane was spreading. The newscaster, a man of thirty-eight with a thinning hairline and a rather portly disposition was giving the report.

_"Hurricane Domingo is said to hit the east coast of Florida in the next seventy-two hours. All residents of the Miami, Daytona, Fort Lauderdale, and Orlando area are being advised to evacuate as soon as possible." _

James turned the television off. Panchito was busy putting in another reel for the film projector. "Hey Paco," James said. Panchito stopped what he was doing and peered his head into the room.

"How do you know that was my nickname?" Panchito asked, a bit confused and worried.

"Internet." James said, his phone was in his lap. Panchito nodded, "Oh good, I thought you were a stalker or something trying to kill me."

"No, but my dad might be." James replied.

"And who pray tell," Panchito said, walking into the room now, "is your padre?"

"I'm assuming that's Spanish for father?" James asked. The rooster nodded. "Well," James said, continuing, "he's the chief of police, that's really all you need to know."

The rooster nodded his head, closed his eyes, and stayed that way for a total of five minutes. James walked over and waved his hand in front of him, trying to see if that would help. "Panchito," James said, "you can stop now."

"He isn't going to stop," Kit shouted from the other room, "the only way you can get him to is if you call his friends."

"Friends?" James asked, ignoring Panchito for a moment and walking into the formal room.

"Yeah," Kit said, "he's part of a group."

"Like a band or something?"

"Exactly!" Kit exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Great, so I'll just call up the members and see if they can do anything about it." James asked, pulling out his cell phone and remembering one crucial detail looked up at the cat clock and said, "Do you happen to know their numbers by any chance?"

"No, but I know where they are." Kit said.

"Really, where?"

Kit smiled and looked toward the door leading downstairs.

James shrugged his shoulders like he always did and walked toward the door. "What are their names?" James asked.

"Jose Carioca and Donald Duck." Kit replied.

"Got it," James said, "Jose Carioca and Donald Duck." He opened the door and proceeded down the stairs.

The basement was cold, dark and damp like a cave. The lifeless room had become a burial ground for nostalgia and childhood, two thing that James never really had. Although most of it was his mother, the most scarring was his father.

James' father, Connor, was a brutish man, who, as stated before, was chief of police. He was also a long list of titles: mob boss, drug lord, mayor, pimp, obtainer of goods, obtainer of goods, the Savior of Crime.

Basically, the reason there was absolutely no creativity, originality, arts, or anything of that sort anymore was because of James' father. It happened three weeks before Mal's death...

"James, get your ass over here!" His father called in a drunk voice.

James walked in terrified, practically trembling in fear, the boy started listing all of the excuses he could think of for not being there immediately, he also started thinking of all of the insults that his father would hurl at him.

"Yes father?" James asked rather meekly.

"How many times do I have to tell you to not leave all of this junk in here!" Connor yelled, face turning red. He was having some friends over to play cards, throw a few darts, and drink until they pass out as well as 'introduce some friends' of his to his other friends. Apparently the problem was nothing. The so called junk was the figurines and posters that Connor and Skye had collected over the years when they didn't care about the world, when the world didn't care about them, when they didn't so called in life that they forgot on what living was. The figurine of a happy smiling parrot with an umbrella and a duck in a sailor suit, along with a red pants wearing mouse, a seven foot green hat wearing dog, a yellow dog with a black collar, and a red rooster with serape were devoted to the middle shelf of the back wall bookcase.

James very quickly, in hopes of not upsetting his father or his guests any further rushed to the bookcase and grabbed as many figurines as he could. He apparently didn't grab anything fast enough because Connor stood up, fists bleeding red, and started knocking figurines off one by one with the passing of his hand. James just stood there and watched, too afraid to stop the destruction of peaceful non-malevolent creatures who's only sole purpose was to instill a sort of human cause. The cause to live, to be outgoing, to have a charitable consideration for others, and to form a brotherhood. That was all they really wanted to do, and by the simple sight of Connor's hand each and every one of them knew, from the parrot all the way down to the rooster, that they wouldn't be able to. The parrot was the first to go, crashing into fifty pieces, second was the duck and so on, each crashing into an even number of scraps and paint chips. Just as Connor was about to destroy the rooster, James grabbed it and held it tightly in his hand as if it were a teddy bear.

"You like that one huh?" Connor asked.

James nodded," Yeah," the boy said, "he looks like he would protect me."

Connor laughed, "Protect you? From what!"

James didn't answer that question, he didn't have to. The only thing James had to do was look up at his father and stand there. Connor's associates, who were all in business suits smoking Spanish cigars and drinking a bottle of burbon each, looked at situation anticipating the showmanship of Connor's authority. An unforgiving corrupt lawman who kept them under the radar so that he could get drugs, they could get more drugs and more people addicted as well as run their many various syndicates around the country.

Connor grabbed the rooster figurine from his son's hands, broke in half, and handed it back. "A clay doll can't save you James, only people can do that."

"Daddy!" James cried, "Why did you do that?"

"Because you have to stop living in your head son!" Connor grabbed James' arm, his knuckles turning white, "Sooner or later you'll have to grow up, or else you'll end up like him!" He pointed towards an inductee and motioned his hand for a weapon of some sort. One of Connor's associates, Don Ontario, pulled out a hand pistol and aimed it. "Do you understand what I mean son?" Connor asked. James nodded and walked back up the stairs, figurine in hand...

James noticed that the bookshelf was completely empty. Not a single figurine, piece of memorabilia, or anything that was there this morning was present. The packing of a box.

James walked around and in a small corner of the basement that was previously blocked by a mountain of stuff, was Connor packing a box of broken figurines and rolled up posters that were out of their pictures. James slowly walked behind his father, careful not to startle him.

"Hey Dad," James said, "whatcha doing?"

"Just packing up some junk in boxes." Connor replied.

"How did you get down here, I didn't see you come in?" James asked, a bit confused as to why his father had mysteriously appeared downstairs without walking through the front door.

"While you were busy watching the Weather Channel, something about a hurricane or some business, I walked in the door." The father replied.

"How come I didn't hear you?"

"Because you had the volume all the way up, what are you deaf?" Connor asked. James shook his head and explained to him that the volume wasn't up all the way, reminding his father of his hearing aid that frequently went in and out of working condition.

"I did see something weird though," Connor said, "I saw the piano, it was playing itself. Like something out of a horror movie. It just kept on playing the same song over and over as well as the old film projector, that was rolling too, know anything about that?"

"Just wanted to see how it works." James replied.

Connor nodded, "Well, don't be watching anything on it, it's against the law you know."

James nodded, he had heard this speech a million times over.

"Yup," Connor said, listening to the sounds from upstairs, "there it is again. I gotta have that thing scrapped, get some money off it." Sure enough, Panchito started playing piano again. James, bewildered at the discovery, quickly walked upstairs and saw the rooster sitting there, Panchito looked up from his business and waved.

"Hey James, como esta, or how you say, what's up?" The rooster said with a slight laugh. James stood there perplexed, Panchito saw this and walked over.

"Something wrong?" The rooster asked with a bit of concern. Kit stood there smiling knowingly. He knew exactly what was going on. Panchito also knew, but he forgot about that small detail.

"Nothing's wrong." James said. Connor, who heard this conversation, stood up and looked at his son, "Um, James, who in the world are you talking to?" The boy looked at his father, then back at the rooster, still having that shocked expression.

"Is there something down there that frightens you?" Panchito asked, "I can go with you, it's just a basement after all."

"Actually," James said, "there is something down there that I'm afraid of."

"Really, who?"

James looked back at his father again who was waiting for an answer.

"Hello," Connor said, "didn't you hear me retard, I said, who are you talking to?"

"Nobody Dad!" James called.

"Oh," Panchito replied nodding, "it's your padre, well, have no fear, the rooster is here!" He laughed as he entered and walked down the staircase. James followed him, pulling on his shirt, trying desperately to stop Panchito from doing something that he'll regret later. Panchito pulled harder.

"You know," Panchito said, "you're not making this easier."

"You're walking towards death you cocky overstuffed chicken!" James said. Connor, who was a bit portly, and only saw James pulling at the air and struggling with said air, took grave offense to this comment.

"James!" Connor shouted. "What the heck are you doing?!"

"I'm not doing anything!" James called back.

"Oh yes you are!" Panchito said, "You're about to rip my jacket, for once, listen to the man."

James shrugged his shoulders, smiling, realizing his position and let go. This sent Panchito tumbling down the stairs. The rooster got up, brushed himself off, turned around, and spoke in rapid Spanish, nothing vulgar or repulsive, just a warning telling James to be more careful. James laughed, remembering for a second that his father couldn't see Panchito in the first place, and shouted. "I have no idea on what you just said. I'm sorry, I don't mean to insult you, but seriously, no one, and I mean no one can understand you."

Connor, who had a slight slur on certain words, also took offense to this, Panchito however, just shook it over as a joke, he actually smiled.

The father stormed up the stairs. James cowered in fear, submitting to the wrath of his father, which included a large strike to the face, a kick to the groin, and enough profanity to fill a dictionary.

As James was violently being destroyed, Panchito did the only thing he could do. He pulled out his weapons, spin them in two revelations, his habitual routine and shot two simultaneous rounds in the ceiling. This made Connor turn around, and again, seeing nothing but two bullet holes in the ceiling and hearing the sound of gunfire.

"Is anybody there?" Connor asked, a bit worried.

"Si," Panchito replied, "now stop abusing your kid, he was talking to me anyway." He aimed his pistols at the father, the left on the heart, the right on the brain, "Do we understand each other?"

Connor heard nothing, and saw nothing, waited for a moment and continued the beating. James was bleeding profusely, acquired a massive headache and cried all the tears he carried.

"Why you crying?" Connor asked in a villainous voice, "Never cry," he kicked his son in the head, hard enough to spawn a concussion, "do you hear me?" James nodded, crying his eyes out. Connor stopped his torture and made his way into the living room but before he made it through the door he said, "You should know better to insult your elders."

Panchito rushed up the stairs, with deep concern he kneeled down and pulled out a small handkerchief. The rooster wiped away what blood he could and embraced James like a father should. James wept.

"Shh," Panchito said lovingly, "it's alright, I'm here, you're safe."

"He hates me," James said in between tears, "he told me yesterday that he wishes that I was never born, maybe then Mal would still be alive." He took a breath, trying to calm himself down, "I'm starting to believe him."

"Don't ever say that," Panchito said, "don't you _ever_ say that. What happened wasn't your fault. You should never blame yourself."

"But I-"

"No you didn't!" Panchito cried, cutting James off, "You didn't kill him, understand? You did _nothing_ wrong."

"How did you know?" James asked.

"How did I know what?"

"About Mal?" James said.

The rooster sighed and carried James in his arms like a babe and sat him on the couch in the formal room. "Let's just say," Panchito said, "I knew him well."

James nodded, satisfied for now, figuring that he would get more details later and fell asleep. Skye was in her room still, drinking the bottle, Connor was too busy watching television to care about anything anymore so Panchito walked into the kitchen, grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, brought it James, placing it on his head and watched over him until he fell asleep.

Once James was sleeping, the rooster walked upstairs quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone of their insane trances. He walked through the upstairs hallway as if he had been through this house before and walked straight into Mal's room.

The room was untouched, glass littered the floor, the bed was unmade. Light casted itself on the floor, the window was open, a slight breeze moved the curtains. Panchito looked on the shelf, he was looking for a very specific object, a small figurine... of himself.

Rummaging through the books and other oddities that occupied the shelf, Panchito felt behind _20,000 Leagues_ and found the two pieces. He pulled them out and inspected it.

The figurine was dusty, the paint was chipped and worn, a few cobwebs and other than being in two pieces, was structurally sound. The rooster smiled and sat on the bed, placing the figurine pieces beside him he looked through his sleeve and found some glue. Slowly and carefully he glued the two pieces together. When he was finished he smiled, placed the little figurine on the bookshelf and looked back, seeing the glass, the unmade bed, and the window.

"Adios amigo." Panchito said and could've sworn that he saw the light get a little brighter, and the curtains move just enough to where Malachi could be seen standing behind it. Panchito thought he was imagining things but noticed that this vision of Mal was smiling and waving to him. Panchito did a casual salute, understanding that the smile and wave meant that he wasn't imagining anything. Mal disappeared after that, but the rooster felt a cold shiver run up his spine for a moment, this cold chill passed through him like a wind and moved toward the light. Panchito walked towards the window and looked up at the sky, seeing a few clouds, but otherwise a blue sky. The wind-like presence went through the rooster again this time retreating to the window and up into the great expanse of the sky. Panchito laughed.

"Just tell me what to do." The rooster said. The wind ruffled the curtains, as if to say that he already knew the answer. Panchito nodded and removed his sombrero, waving it with his hand. "Go on!" He shouted, "Fly to greener pastures, experience what you've gained." He laughed, put on his sombrero again and took a heavy sigh, he whispered, "and take me with you."

Skye walked downstairs at the peak of her drunkenness, Panchito heard the screaming, the yelling of the married couple, and could feel the fear in James' body from downstairs. The rooster sat on the floor of Mal's room, placing his knees close to his chest and closed his eyes for a moment.

"What did you get me into Mal?" He asked. Panchito leaned his head back up against the wall. "What do you want from me?"

The wind blew through the window harshly, it almost blew Panchito's sombrero off his head. The rooster caught it, and heard the sound of something very breakable move dangerously towards the edge of whatever it was sitting on. Panchito looked up and saw the figurine, it was moving in circles and was about to fall onto the floor. Quickly the rooster got up and ran to catch it just as it began to fall. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Best keep this away from windows," he said as he placed the figurine in his pocket and walked back downstairs.


	5. Chapter 5

** Chapter V:**

**Changed the rating because of this chapter. I realized that in order for the plot to go the way I want to, to have a serious impact on the characters, this story needs to be "T", the only reason being violence. Language (cruses) is not a factor here, just violence (guns/firearms specifically).**

* * *

"So, here's how you put a reel in," Panchito said. He was instructing James on how to load the film projector.

"Quick question," James said interrupting the lesson. "What type of camera is this?"

"It's an 8mm film projector." Panchito and Kit replied simultaneously.

"Oh," James said, "continue please."

Panchito nodded, "So what you do first is very gently place the film toward the projector until you hear a small click."

James nodded and slowly pushed the film towards the projector. _Click._

"Good!" Panchito said with a smile, "Now, press down on that lever there," he pointed near the lens, "and take the leader, or the edge of the film, and place it into that slot right over there." Panchito pointed towards the threading slot. "Alright," Panchito said, "you're doing great, now turn the lamp switch off and start the motor." James did so. The film started moving. "See how those sprockets and how they move?" The rooster asked. James nodded, "Now," Panchito continued, "wait until about two feet of film has run through." They waited until the required measurement. "Stop the motor projector, oh and you can let go of the lever now." James did both of these things. "Pick up the loose end and pull it across the bottom. Make sure that the sprockets engage the film. Then make sure that there aren't any kinks, and take the leader and slip it into that slot up there." Panchito pointed into the locking slot. Wind the reel clockwise and tighten the film. Now you can switch on the lamp switch and voila, you're finished!"

James finished the procedure, he sat back and admired his work. Appropriately, _The Three Caballeros_ began playing.

"Oh," Panchito said laughing, as he moved to the couch, "I can tell you stories about this one."

"Really?" James asked, intrigued.

Panchito nodded, "The only movie I was ever in. The public never liked me after the war, said I was," he performed air quotes, "'politically incorrect' for the mainstream masses."

"Is that so?"

Panchito nodded, "Yeah." he watched the screen, it was the part he appeared. The rooster smiled, "You know," Panchito said, "we had to redo this scene over and over."

"Why is that?" James asked.

"Donal' received injuries and Jose had a panic attack." Panchito replied, "I guess Nash and Pedro scared them."

James looked at him, a bit confused, "Nash and Pedro?" Panchito laughed at his confusion, "Mis pistolas!" Panchito cried enthusiastically, mimicking his onscreen performance, the rooster stood up, threw his guns in the air, which in turn fired off precisely two shots and landed in their holsters. James clapped. Panchito bowed, and being a bit of a ham said. "Thank you, thank you, you're far too kind."

"What else can you do?" James asked.

"You really want to know?"

James nodded, interested at the entertaining rooster and his many tricks that were literally up his sleeve.

"Watch this." Panchito said as he fished in his sleeve and pulled out his magic serape. The rooster whistled, instantly the rug became animated. "Serape," the rooster said, "say hello to Senor James." Serape, who was very similar to his cousin Carpet from Saudi Arabia, waved to James who waved back. The rooster snapped his fingers and said "Vamos arriba en el aire." Serape nodded and lifted his owner up into the air. Panchito sat on the edge, "Serape, vamos a hacer el mago ley." The rug wrapped himself around Panchito and squeezed tight, causing the rooster to not breathe for several moments. Behaving like a boa constrictor, and the rooster a mouse caught in a dead trap, Serape squeezed until they both disappeared into a red smoke. This reddish smoke filled the room to the point where James couldn't see, even if he placed his hand in front of his face he wouldn't be able to tell.

"Panchito!" James called, a bit worried, "What's going on?"

Almost as if on command, the smoke transformed back into the rooster as if his inner workings were made of the stuff. The show wasn't even over. Panchito stood there and started to do a bit of a shimmy and leg routine, he then did the wrapping up motion with his hands and from that, more smoke was produced. This time the smoke formed into Donald and Jose, in the ways that Panchito remembered them. They all did the same shimmy and leg motion for a moment then Panchito outstretched his hand as if emotionally wanting to desperately hold on to something so dear, begging the person that was taking it away from him to stop for a moment and see damage. Donald and Jose turned into smoke again and travelled to Panchito's hand, when that was done the rooster snapped his fingers, closed his hand in a fist, and opened it, revealing two small figurines of his friends. Panchito then blew them away, like one does with a dandelion weed and the figurines once again, like everything else, turned to smoke but instead of going anywhere specific they disappeared into thin air. Panchito then spun, and continued to spin until he reached the piano chair, stopping perfectly and sitting down simultaneously, he then began playing, as if nothing happened.

James stood there, impressed, stupefied, and confused. He stood up and walked to the piano. "What was that?" He asked.

"A little bit of magic," Panchito said with a sigh, "I miss them you know."

"Why can't you visit them?" James asked.

"I just can't anymore, they moved away, gone to better places." The rooster said. "Sometimes I just wish things didn't have to be so complicated you know. Why can't things be simpler, why does there have to be this law? We didn't do anything wrong!" Panchito cried, frustrated, annoyed, and admittedly sad.

"Cheer up Panch," Kit said, "it's not like you're not going to ever see them again."

"What do you mean Kit?" Panchito asked, a bit of hope in his eyes.

"Simple Panchito," Kit replied, "the sun rises every morning doesn't it?" Panchito nodded, Kit smiled and said, "Then you've answered your question."

Panchito smiled, feeling a bit reassured, "Gracias amigo." Kit bowed to the best of his ability, "Always happy to serve."

The rooster pulled the small figurine in his pocket, he looked at it, smiled a bit and handed it to James, "Keep this safe for me won't you?" He asked. James nodded and looked at the figurine, "It's beautiful."

"Well," Panchito said, combing his headpiece, known as the cock, back a bit, feeling flattered. "I'm glad you think so."

"Are you always a ham?" James asked.

"No," Panchito replied, reaching in his sleeve, producing a ham, "but I'm pretty sure this guy has been." James laughed.

"Are you a comedian?"

Panchito reached in his shirt and fished around, "No," the rooster said, "but I'm pretty sure these guys are." he pulled out Daniel Tosh, Bill Cosby, Charlie Chaplin, Kevin Hart, Dane Cook, and Gabriel Iglesias who were all in a big long chain via handholding and sat them on the floor.

"Where are we?" Tosh asked.

"You're in a story." Panchito answered.

"A story?" Cook and James replied both of them confused.

"Si!" Panchito replied.

"Hey, that's offensive." Iglesias said. Panchito laughed, "That's why I kidnap- I mean leased you, you're all just so funny."

"Thanks I guess." Kevin Hart said.

"No problem," Panchito said, he looked at Charlie Chaplin, "How are you doing Charlie?"

Chaplin stayed silent, he was black and white and dressed in his Tramp attire. Charlie simply nodded and looked at James. Chaplin smiled and patted his head.

"Hey kid," Tosh said, "where's your Mom?"

"She's upstairs getting drunk probably." James answered. Tosh smiled but Panchito quickly pulled them back in as if they were a slew of accordion like Post-It notes.

"Why'd you do that?" James asked. "Because," Panchito said, "if it went any further there was going to have to be a change in rating."

"Change in rating?"

Panchito sighed, "Never mind it." James shrugged his shoulders and entered the living room to watch television, his father was asleep on the couch.

Panchito turned towards the author, "Are we done breaking the fourth wall?"

Sure I guess.

"You guess or you know, there's a difference." Kit said.

Kit please shut up.

"Why does everyone tell me that?" The clock asked.

I don't know, run on gag maybe.

"You don't even know! Wow," Kit said, "that's sad, and you call yourself a writer."

Well, yeah, I want to be an animator actually.

"Oh really?" Panchito asked, intrigued, "what do you want to do with your life?"

Oh maybe work for Disney or something.

"Bring me back please." Panchito said, "I don't like living in a closet, it's full of brooms and mops, it also has an odd smell."

What does it smell like?

"Fish and body odor."

Is it near King Triton's suite?

"I guess so." Panchito said. "Anyway, back to reality."

What reality.

"Um, the one that you're making up." The rooster replied, "Geez do I have to paint a picture for you?"

Well it would be nice. I would like a Van Gogh reproduction if that's okay.

"Sure, anything specific?" The rooster asked.

Nope, just any Van Gogh reproduction.

"Okay," Panchito said, pulling out a little notepad and writing the information down, "I'm open in three weeks, how about Tuesday, nine o'clock in the morning?"

Sure.

"Great, just give me a call and my associates will get back to you." Panchito said. His cell phone rang, "Un momento por favor." He said and answered it. "Hello this is Pistoles Reproductions, Panchito Pistoles owner, CEO, and President speaking how may I assist you?"

"Yeah is Donna there?" The caller asked.

"Donna is out today." Panchito answered, "Anything I can personally do for you?"

"Not unless you're in the mood for sushi later at six o'clock." The caller said.

"Oh," Panchito said, he paused and looked at Kit.

"Who's on the phone?" Kit asked.

"No se!" Panchito cried loudly, but not loud enough for the caller to hear. "Hello?" The caller said.

Panchito rolled his eyes and quickly talked to the caller again, "Yes hold on, what did you say the sushi place was?"

"I didn't," the caller said, "but it's Sake Blue."

Panchito smiled, Sake Blue was his favorite Japanese restaurant and it has been years since he'd been there. "Well that changes things, can I have your name please sir."

"I'm a woman." The caller said.

Panchito stopped, he thought for a moment, "Who did you say that you were trying to reach again?"

"Donna." The woman said.

"Donna Beatty?" Panchito asked, "My assistant?"

"No, Donna Parker," the caller corrected.

"Oh yeah." Panchito said, forgetting that he had two Donna's working for him, one a female and one a male.

The male Donna was the victim of poor parenting choices, giving a male baby a feminine name. Donna Parker's favorite song was "A Boy Named Sue" because he could relate to it. Yes, Donna's father named him that, and yes, Donna tracked the man down and they fought. Every time that song comes on Donna replaces Sue with his name.

"So your name Senora?" Panchito asked.

"Denise." The woman answered.

Panchito smiled, "Well, I'll go with you if need the company."

"Sure, I'll see you in a couple of hours." Denise said and hung up.

Kit smiled, "Score a date?" He asked.

Panchito pulled out his jacket a bit, looking like a gangster in a 1930's movie. He started playing the piano, "It's kind of like this." The rooster said and began to sing one of the most beautiful songs in history in its original language.

_"Quand je la prends dans mes bras, elle me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose.."_

* * *

As Panchito was singing, Connor heard the music, stood up and walked into the formal room. Seeing and hearing nothing, he shrugged his shoulders and was about to go back to his seat when he saw the film projector. It was still running cartoons._ The Three Caballeros _was still playing. Connor, furious, walked over to the projector and kicked it to its side. Panchito stopped playing and realized what was happening. Quickly the rooster stood up and tackled Connor to the ground just as he was about to stomp the film projector the pieces. Connor, who still saw nothing but realized he somehow ended up on the floor, tried to get up, but Panchito was pinning him down. Connor tried to get up but failed every single time, the rooster was stronger than most and could hold his own in almost any situation, especially brawls. Connor finally resisted and submitted himself to defeat, looking to the left, not noticing that for a total of three seconds watched the film that was still playing. Connor looked up towards the ceiling but saw Panchito instead.

"Senor," Panchito said, "just what exactly are you doing?"

Connor shook his head in bewilderment, not believing that it was happening. He looked at the screen again and back up at the ceiling, the rooster was still there.

"I must be dreaming." Connor said.

"You're not dreaming, you're just plump loco!" Panchito said as he got off the man and helped him up.

"Who are you?" Connor asked.

"Panchito." The rooster answered. Connor shook his head and sighed deeply, "You were the one who killed my son."

Panchito stood there, a bit confused, but knew exactly what he meant by the phrase, "What are you talking about?" He said.

Connor looked up at him, giving him a deathly glare, "I think you already know the answer to that." He walked out of the room, looked for his gun, found it, and came back in, aiming it at Panchito's head. James, who noticed his father, walked in behind him, a bit confused as to why his father was holding his friend at gunpoint.

"Dad," James said, "what are you doing?"

"Look long and hard son," Connor said, "this'll be the last time you see him." He readied his weapon to fire.

"Dad don't!" James cried, "He's my friend."

"Then save him." Connor fired, the bullet left the chamber and spun into the air, hurling towards the rooster who just stood there looking like a shooting target but the bullet didn't hit that one, instead it hit something different. Panchito looked down and saw James, bleeding on the floor, still breathing, still very much alive, but injured. He would have to go to the hospital. The father just continued giving the rooster a dead cold expression.

"Now you killed both of my sons," Connor said, "I hope your happy with yourself."

Panchito mimicked the death glare that he was getting but this wasn't just a death glare, this was a glare of banishment to the nether regions type of glare, the type of glare that kills instantly just like Medusa. The rooster pulled out both pistols, spun them in two revelations like always and aimed them in non-fatal areas of Connor's body, the arm and the leg.

"What are you going to do?" Connor said with a smile, "You can't touch me, I have power and people, what do you have?"

Panchito didn't answer immediately, he fired a shot in Connor's arm. "Two things," Panchito said, "a soul," he took a step forward, getting into the corrupt officer's face, still retaining that Medusa glare. "and a heart. I could kill you right now, believe me if James weren't in the room right now I probably would, but then I would be orphaning a son and widowing a wife. I don't want to do that."

"Then what do you want to do?" Connor asked.

"Look at your son," Panchito said, "do you really want him to be this for the rest of his life? Crippled by _your_ fear? Or do you want him to go and be on his own?"

Connor looked at his son, noticing that he was still alive, James looked up at his father in deep disappoint.

"W-w-why d-d-d-did you s-s-shoot me Dad?" James said.

"Because I-" Connor said.

"Don't say anything," Panchito said cutting the man off, "he doesn't deserve to hear anymore of your lies." The rooster aimed his pistol at Connor's leg and fired. Connor fell to the ground, grunting in pain. James cried a bit.

"Dad!"

"Don't worry," Panchito reassured, "they're non-fatal."

"Am I going to d-die?" James asked.

Panchito shook his head and cradled James in his arms, "No, you're going to be fine." He walked towards the doorway, opened it with his hand carefully and put James in the backseat of the family car. Panchito then walked back inside towards Connor.

"Where's the keys?" The rooster asked.

"Why?" Connor said. Panchito kicked him hard in the stomach.

"Where are the keys!" Panchito shouted, pulling out his right pistol. "Don't force me to use this again."

Connor nodded, "Front pocket."

Panchito fished around and grabbed them. "Gracias."

"Where are you going?" Connor asked.

"I'm taking your son to the hospital." Panchito said, he looked at the television, noticing that it was still on. The rooster still had the pistol out, he aimed it at the television and fired. The bullet sped through the air and went through the television screen. Sparks flew and the screen went black revealing the large bullet hole. Panchito looked at Connor who was trying his best to ease his pain.

"I hope you're happy with yourself." Panchito said as he violently slammed the door, walked towards the car and drove James to the hospital.

* * *

I know, I'm a mean, terrible person.

* * *

**Sources (to credit all parties used/mentioned): **

**"La Vie en Rose" by Yves Montand**

**Hesse, Tim. "How to Thread an 8mm Movie Projector."_eHow_. N.p.. Web. 17 Jan 2014. how_7792454_ . (MLA citation of a eHow article, "How to Thread an 8mm Film Projector", just Google it if you want to know more about it, it's really interesting.)**

**All cartoon characters and references are the property of The Walt Disney Company, Warner Bros. MGM, and Hanna-Barbera respectively. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI:**

James lay on the hospital bed, his white bed sheets did little to hide any blood. Hooked up to heart monitors, breathing machines, and just about anything that could fit into the room that was allowed.

Panchito sat next to his bedside, continually praying and hoping that everything would be okay. Ever since they arrived James had been in an unresponsive state. The doctor reassured him that everything was going to be okay but the rooster was not convinced.

Maybe it was paranoia, maybe it was the fatherly instinct that he had recently acquired for the kid, or maybe it was the feeling of responsibility or brotherhood that he felt, but Panchito had the feeling in his gut that something was going to happen, he didn't know if that something was good or bad, but he knew that something was going to happen. He was hoping that it was a good thing.

Footsteps in the hallway, the clattering of high heels up against tile made Panchito think of Nurse Ratchet, from _One Flew Over the Coo-coo's Nest_. Militant, an intimidating evil whose only purpose was to force patients into submission, strip them of their souls and turn them into mindless brain child's of perverted dictators and cynical old men. In other words, Skye.

James' mother entered the room just as the Rolling Stones would say, a glass of wine in her hand. It was really a full bottle of bourbon. She staggered towards an empty chair and looked at her son who was peacefully sleeping, she sat down and smiled. "Oh thank god he's alive."

"Oh," Panchito said, "so you finally care about your son?" He asked.

Skye, who could see Panchito, turned to him and said, "Yes I care about my son, long enough for me to kill him myself."

Panchito crossed his legs and nodded, looking like an academic and said, "You should be arrested for child endangerment."

Skye laughed as she took another drink, "You should be arrested for breaking and entering, disturbing the peace, and driving me fucking crazy."

"How pray tell, do I, to use your unnecessarily rude term drive you fucking crazy?" The rooster asked.

"You keep showing up." The mother answered, once again, taking another drink. "How can I see you anyway?" She asked.

"At this point I really don't care if you can or not, what I do care about is your son and you." Panchito said, leaning over a bit. "Now," he continued, "can you possibly tell me why you started drinking?"

"Does it matter? Why do you care anyway?"

"Let's just say," the rooster replied, "that I knew your son very well."

"Malachi?" Skye asked. Panchito nodded, "He was a joy, a real trip," the mother said, taking another drink, "biggest mistake I've ever made."

Panchito stood up, walked over to her and snatched the bourbon from her hand. "Hey!" Skye shouted, "Give that back!" She reached for the bottle but Panchito just lifted it as high as he could. Skye stood up, trying to get the bottle again but Panchito grabbed her shirt collar as she passed and pulled her close to his face, giving her a look of pity, disdain, and mercy.

"I think you'll come to realize that this," Panchito shook the bottle, "was the biggest mistake you ever made. Your son tried to change the world, and he tried to do through me, I bet you didn't know that." He let go of her shirt.

"I just knew that he loved to draw and write music." Skye said. Panchito nodded and threw the bottle against the wall, shattering it into pieces. The mother's face turned apple red, "That cost me-"

"Does it look like I care!" Panchito shouted, getting frustrated with her, "James is in a coma and all you care about it your booze?!" He walked back to his chair, lifting his hands in defeat, "Ay caramba what is this world coming to?" He sat down and sighed.

"He just wanted to make the future," he whispered, "you wouldn't give it to him."

He looked up at Skye, with grave disappointment and disbelief that a mother would completely disown any sort of ambition from her children, telling them that the world was meant to be a dark, cruel place where people are constantly on an assembly line, having nothing better to do than listen to a system that dictates life, which in turn kills the meaning of living.

"All you had to do was encourage him you know?" Panchito said, "You couldn't even do that!"

"Oh yeah, where were you Mr. Parenting Magazine?" Skye asked. Panchito reached in his sleeve and pulled out a large cardboard box full of Parenting Magazines and handed it to her.

"Wow," Skye said, surprised and impressed, "is that-"

"Every issue, I have a subscription," Panchito answered, "anyway, I was there, you just weren't paying attention."

"What do you mean you were there?" Skye asked a bit confused.

"Check James' pocket." The rooster said.

Skye put the box down on the floor and walked over to James' bedside. His clothes were neatly folded, laying on a small table beside the bed. Skye fished through the pockets of James' pants and found the small Panchito figurine.

"I remember this," the mother said smiling a bit, "I used to watch your movie when I was little. My parents bought this for me after I became virtually obsessed with you." She walked back to her chair, examining the piece, "This really belongs in a museum."

"Gee," Panchito said, "thanks for the compliment."

"Alright Mr. Sarcasm." Skye replied with a smile. Panchito smiled as well, as he once again fished through his sleeves and pulled out _How to Be Sarcastic for Dummies_ and handed it to her. Skye laughed a bit.

"So that's why I can see you I guess," the mother said, "because I saw you when I was a kid and now this thing?"

Panchito nodded, "Basically yeah."

"Can James see you too?" Skye asked.

"Oh sure!" The rooster said.

"But he hasn't seen you before, like ever." Skye said.

"Yes he has," Panchito replied, "he saved me actually," he motioned towards the figurine, "that's my life force, if that breaks then poof, no more me."

Skye nodded, "I see," she handed the figurine to the rooster, "you better hold on to that then."

Panchito placed the figurine in his pocket. "So," the mother said, "how long have you been here?"

"For three hours." Panchito said.

"You can go," Skye replied, "I can take care of him."

Panchito looked at her, skeptically, "It's not that I don't think you're capable senora, it's just that-"

"I'm a drunk?"

Panchito shrugged his shoulders a bit and nodded. "Yeah that's pretty much it."

"Are you saying that I'm unfit to be his mother because I drink?" Skye said, standing up, raising her voice a bit.

"Si," Panchito also stood, "I do."

"Lots of people drink." Skye said defending herself.

"Yeah, people who are single, have no job, money, or people to take care of!" Panchito fired back. "Look at where we are? We're standing in a hospital room!"

"Are you saying that all this is my fault!"

"No, I'm just saying that if you open your ojos you'll see that both of you, you and your husband, are killing your son!" Panchito cried. Just then the heart monitor stopped working.

Panchito and Skye looked over and noticed that the heart monitor screen was off and that an emergency beeping was sounding.

"Quick, go get a nurse, a doctor, anybody, I'll start the CPR." Panchito instructed. Skye nodded and exited the room.

Panchito rushed over to James and checked his heartbeat, both pressing his ear up against James' chest and the pulse underneath the wrist. "Damn it, he's not breathing."

In desperation, Panchito opened James' mouth, obstructing any airways and lifting the head a little, and began mouth to mouth resuscitation. He breathed twice and started dong air compressions. _Uno, dos, tres. _Panchito counted and continued this process.

"Come on James," the rooster said, "you can do this."

He did more resuscitation and air compressions. No response.

"James," Panchito said, pleading to high heaven in his head, "you're not going out before me. I'm getting you out of this alright?"

Doctors and nurses rushed in.

"Sir," one of the doctors said, "you're going to need to step back." Panchito did so and watched the doctors do their work. He also heard crying from the hallway.

Panchito walked out and saw that Skye was sitting on a bench, crying her eyes out. "Senora," the rooster said in sympathy, "what's wrong?"

"You're right," Skye said in between tears, "I'm nothing more than a drunk, a stupid drunk who wastes money and doesn't care about anything. I'm pathetic!"

"No one is pathetic," Panchito assured, "for pathetic means that you've given up. That you took the easy road, the wider gate, it means never trying anything or going anywhere." Panchito sat down next to her, placing an arm around her in comfort, "Look what you did, you raised two sons and a daughter, I've never met the third but I'm sure she's just as wonderful. You've got to get through this for them. You can't give up, because if you give up on yourself then you're giving up on them as well as me."

"How would I be giving up on you?" Skye asked.

Panchito sighed, "You think you're the only one with problems? If I don't do something soon I'm going to be finished, done, fine, over. My friends are dead senora, they had so much to offer and they were murdered by someone. I do not speak his name because he's close to you, but I have to save what I can, show people that we," he paused, correcting himself, "that I, still matter, that I can still do something. I want to build words, shape destinies, give hope, some type of future to this world."

"That's on what Mal said to me the night he-" Skye started to say before she broke down tears. "Oh Mal, I'm so sorry!"

Panchito nodded, "You don't have to be sorry for that anymore. You can still fix this, save yourself from grief by saving your son."

"Why are you here anyway?" Skye asked, looking at Panchito with two rivers of tears running down her face. The rooster wiped them away and smiled.

"To save you." Panchito answered.

"From what?"

"Do you want the easy answer or the hard answer?" Panchito asked.

"I'll take the easy one." Skye said.

"Good because the hard answer is hard to explain and take way too much time." Just as he was about to explain one of the most difficult things he could ever explain to someone, the doctor stepped out of the room.

"Are you the mother?" The doctor asked, looking at Skye who nodded. The doctor turned towards Panchito, "Are you the father?"

"Uh, actually I'm a-"

"Yes he is." Skye said.

Panchito looked at her, nodding simply. "Is he alright?" The rooster asked.

"He's fine, but there's something else far more dangerous than that bullet, something far less traceable." The doctor said.

"Like what exactly?" Skye asked.

"Ma'am, sir," the doctor said looking at both of them, "are you aware that James has cancer?"

"W-w-what?" Skye said in shock and in disbelief. When she walked in this morning she was drunk out of her mind, not caring about anyone but herself, now she realized who she was, where she was, and what she was facing. "Which kind is it?" She asked. The doctor didn't answer.

"Which kind is it!" Skye shouted, once again, the doctor didn't answer. Skye then started to hit the man out of rage for not answering, so she asked him again, "Answer me damn it, what kind is it!" Screaming her head off to high heaven, it was the first time she understood what motherhood was, shame it had to come to these terms to realize a simple concept, but sometimes it happens.

The doctor stood there, taking the slight abuse, still not speaking, he simply looked down at the floor, sighing his head thinking to himself, _"I'm sorry, if you would've come in sooner, we could've stopped this."_

Just as Skye was about to hit the doctor again, Panchito held her back. "Easy, easy," he said, the mother broke into tears and embraced him.

"Shh," the rooster said, comforting her, "it's going to be alright, you'll see. Que él mismo ha dicho, 'nunca te abandonaré, ni yo nunca te abandonaré'."

"What does that mean?" Skye asked.

"For He Himself has said, "I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you." Panchito said, translating the Spanish.

"Isn't that a Bible verse?"

Panchito nodded, "Hebrews 13:5."

Skye nodded, composed herself and sat down on the bench again. Panchito turned towards the doctor. "How long does he have?" The rooster asked.

The doctor took a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, "I would give him at least six months, two years at most, but you're most likely looking at the low end of that range. I'm sorry."

A nurse exited the room, "He's awake now if you want to see him." Panchito nodded, swallowed some saliva that was building up in his throat and entered the room. Before he walked through the doorway though, he looked at Skye, who was wiping away more tears.

"Hebrews 13:5." Panchito said. Skye nodded and took several deep, long, and slow deep breaths, praying that someone, anyone could fix this, not realizing that the one thing she was looking for just walked into her son's hospital room.

James was sitting up in his bed, smiling as when he saw Panchito enter.

"Hey, they have some of your friends on television." James said, pointing towards the precariously placed entertainment system that was currently showing classic cartoons under James' request. _The Rabbit of Seville, _a Bugs Bunny short was playing.

Panchito resumed his seat at the bedside. He smiled at James who smiled back and after a moment said, "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"No particular reason." Panchito said. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine I guess, the doctor's said I have cancer. Said I don't have much longer." James said. "But you know, that's okay, it just means I get more time to do the things I've always wanted to do you know?"

Panchito nodded, and for a moment thought of Walt, thinking on how he lived those last days and died with a smile on his face. Panchito laughed to himself.

"What so funny?" James asked.

"Senor Disney," the rooster answered, he looked up at the ceiling, "when he died he just looked up at the ceiling and imagined that he saw the whole world."

"That's pretty cool." James said with an intrigued smile. Panchito nodded again, "Si," the rooster said, "he was pretty cool guy."

For a while they sat and talked. Talked about their lives, their hopes, dreams, regrets, and proud moments. James talked about his first home run when he was ten, and the time his team went to win State Little League. Panchito mentioned his friends Donald and Jose often, talked about their adventures together, as well as his massive family, pet horse, Senor Martinez, and a recently acquired pet bull named Rio that he saved from the slaughterhouse. They also watched cartoons. Bugs and his cohorts, Mickey and his associates, Tom and Jerry with their antics, George Jetson and Mr. Spacley, even the Mickey Mouse Club. For a total of three and half hours, the world that had the word cancer in it disappeared as if a distant dream and the two friends bonded closer as brothers.

Around three-thirty, James was starting to fall back asleep and Panchito took it as a cue to leave.

"Panchito," James said, still fighting the urge to sleep to tell his friend something, "can you do something for me?" He said.

"Sure, what is it?" Panchito asked.

"Can you stay with me tonight? I just don't want to be alone." James said. Skye, who entered the room at this point and who overheard the conversation nodded.

"That would be fine." She said.

Panchito stood and walked towards her, motioning her to step into the hallway. She did so.

"I can't." Panchito said once he closed the door.

"Why not?" Skye asked with a bit of a tone.

"Because I'm not his father!" Panchito cried.

"He needs you Panchito, you're all he's got right now. Besides, I have some business to take care of so I can't do it and Connor is working, so he can't do it. You're the only one who can." Skye said, pleading with him. "Please, you've already done so much, and he looks up to you, he needs you in that room."

Skye hugged Panchito who embraced her back.

"If you're expecting a savior, then I'm not it." Panchito said.

"Then what are you then?" Skye asked him.

"I'm just a rooster."

Skye nodded, kissed him gently on the cheek and rushed out of the hallway as if she was running late to a meeting.

Panchito sighed heavily and was about to re-enter James' room when he got a bad feeling in his gut. As if he were punched heard in the stomach, Panchito collapsed on the floor, he caught himself. His lungs became inflamed, his heart rate increased, his head began to spin. He gasped for air but found none, he reached for the doorknob, turned it, opened the door and found himself face down on the floor. The rooster turned his head towards James' bed and saw James, laughing, smiling, watching an _Alice_ short. Panchito laughed to himself.

"That's my boy." He said with a faint whisper, then like the mist in his magic trick, disappeared.

When Skye was hugging Panchito she grabbed the figurine from his pocket and put it in her own. She wanted to hold on it for herself, to remind her that she wasn't alone. But she didn't know that there was a hole in the pocket that she placed the figurine in. The floor was tile. You can imagine the rest.

* * *

**I'm just so mean aren't I?**

**This story is far from over!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII:**

Skye rushed through the hospital hallway, she was trying to clear her head, make sense of things, as well as get back to work. She felt something fall from her pocket followed by the immediate shatter. She turned, saw the shattered pieces of the figurine and started to pick them up individually, as she did this, she began to fidget, almost as if in a panic.

One of the hospital workers, a janitor, saw the dilemma and rushed over to help. "Here," he said, sweeping up the pieces with a broom and dustpan, "let me take care of that for you." When he was done he made his way to the garbage can.

"Wait, don't, I need those." Skye said.

"You need _this_? Ma'am, this is just shattered pieces of clay and porcelain." The janitor said. "Garbage really, I can take it for you."

"This isn't garbage," the mother said, "it's been in my family for years, I couldn't possibly let go of it."

"But it destroyed ma'am." The janitor replied in confusion.

"That doesn't matter," Skye said and walked towards the counter and asked for a Ziploc baggie. The nurse gave her one, Skye put the contents of the figurine inside and walked to her car.

* * *

Connor meanwhile was being helped up and taken care for by Giacomino and Frank, two of his associates that he frequently played pool with. Giacomino was an Italian who was the brains of the operation, a degree from Harvard and Princeton, Giacomino was acute in physics, deduction and philosophy. Frank on the other hand was the weapon, he could use anything, build anything, and fir anything both legal and illegal. An unstoppable martial arts machine, Frank was the kind of person who shoot first and then interrogated you afterwards.

Connor, who could manage to reach his cell phone, called the two men over to help him up and deal with the problem.

"Who did this to you boss?"Frank asked as he and Giacomino helped Connor to his feet while Frank extracted the bullets from Connor's arm and leg.

"A rooster," Connor said, trying not to scream from the pain, "I know it sounds crazy, but a cartoon rooster shot me."

"A cartoon sir? Are you sure you weren't dreaming and got mugged?" Frank asked. He pulled the bullet from the arm. Connor grunted a bit.

"Who get's mugged in their own house?" Giacomino asked.

"I don't know, maybe it was his kid or something." Frank retorted.

"No, I'm telling you guys," Connor said getting rather annoyed, "it was a cartoon rooster." Frank pulled out the bullet in the leg, Connor grunted again.

Looking at the film projector, Connor sighed in annoyance, "And it was all this damn piece of junk's fault!" He kicked the projector violently, sending foot straight to the floor. The projector, which now lay destroyed, clicked, still churning away, begging for last moments to share charm and some old forgotten wisdom with the world before moving on. The reel was a Looney Tunes short known as _Porky Pig's Feat_ the ending title screen with the famous cursive reading "That's All Folks!" appeared for one final time. Darkness. The dream was gone. All of the work was dead.

Connor had his men take the film projector, every single reel, and the boxes of busted figurines and posters to the trunk of a car, which they all three drove to a garbage compound which then loaded all of the garbage onto a barge that travelled halfway across the world to be dumped and recycled into clean renewable energy resources. The last beacon of hope was transferred into gasoline.

Giacomino drove the car back to the house. "So, this rooster got a name?"

"Yeah," Connor said, "Panchito Pistoles."

"Isn't that they guy with the sombrero who hung out with Donald Duck back in the day?" Frank asked.

"Yeah," Connor replied, "that bastard killed my son and harmed the other one. I need you guys to protect the family, everybody understand, if that rooster gets anywhere near the house, or any of them, kill that son of a bitch."

Frank smiled, "Yes sir."

* * *

Pulling into her workplace, the local high school, Skye brought in the plastic baggie along with her, hoping that someone, anyone knew how to fix a model.

Walking in the hallway, frantically searching, Skye only thought of two things at the moment, her son, and the person she believed who could save him.

Mr. Harry Jennings, the carpentry extracurricular teacher and senior history teacher was walking down the hallway in a horrible orange, red, and blue plaid button up with a gray sweater on top with khakis, dress shoes, and a half eaten apple in his hand. He had just finished lunch.

"Why Mrs. Fever, how nice it is to see you again. How's the family?" He asked in a respectful, friendly voice.

"Fine Harry," Skye said, "can you do me a favor?"

"Sure," Harry said, "what is it?"

Skye showed him the bag, "Can you fix him?"

"Yes I can fix _it_ Mrs. Fever, I should have it done in six months." Harry replied.

"Six months! Is it possible to get it done sooner?" Skye asked, "Please, it's for James."

"Well, tell him that he's going to have to wait six months to get it back. I have a life, wife, and job you know."

Skye nodded, "I understand Harry but there's a chance that he might not be here in six months."

"Oh, are you moving?" Harry asked.

"No, I mean here as in alive Mr. Jennings." Skye said, "James has cancer, the terminal kind and this is his friend."

Harry looked at her with a puzzled smile, "His _friend?_"

Skye nodded, "I'll explain everything later, I promise." Harry took the baggie from her hands.

"Well," Harry said with a smile, "let the magic begin I guess."

* * *

Connor came back home and noticed that the place was like it was before. Plain, boring, and unoriginal.

"Ah," Connor said smiling, "no more cartoons, no more roosters, no more nonsense." He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. As he entered the living room he noticed that the television was still destroyed. He screamed out of frustration, bending down and wailing. At first he was angry at the broken television, then he was angry at Panchito, then his wife, then Mal, then James, and finally himself, for causing this. Here, alone holding a pint of blood colored wine in a cheap plastic cup, wearing a hand me down shirt with a mustard stain, an old belt, carrying a gun that had one bullet left, Connor realized what his life had become. He wept as bent down on his knees.

After a few moments of silence, Connor thought he heard a singing voice.

_"Two brothers, 1961, on a road ninety miles too long, someone don't want us together but_ _we just keep on walking cause we're one, we're one." _

Connor stood up and noticed that the singing was coming from the formal room, he walked in and saw Kit, singing his heart out.

_"I got a voice and you got a reason, for the glory we sing our broken song. Take a side and I'll take the other one, two brothers under one nation."_

Connor walked towards the clock and placed his hands on him, Kit still kept on singing.

_"Wanna feel your love right now, wanna see the night and feel the day, ever try to touch somebody ninety miles away?"_

The cop sighed, "I think I need to go sober from now on." He began to lift the clock from the wall, but Kit stopped him with song.

_"But it won't be the same again, no it won't be the same again." _

Connor sighed, knowing the song all too well, it was the only song he could play on the piano and sing at the same time. It got him through a lot in his life, his depression in his twenties, his heart attack in his thirties, and now it would get him through his feeling of aloneness. The cop decided to break the law once and once only and sat at the piano seat, placing his fingers on the correct keys but they did not playing a single note, just gently rested there.

"Would you like to sing it with me sir?" Kit asked.

"No." Connor said. "How are you even possible?" He asked.

Kit laughed, "All impossibilities are possible sir, for impossibilities are conceived from the mind, and logically, everything that the mind can conjure up, can in fact be done."

"Who built you, Thomas Edison?"

Kit looked at him, peering his head from the wall and moving his tail back and forth, "I'm a clock."

"So?" Connor said very condescendingly.

"Edison didn't make clocks sir." Kit replied.

Connor nodded and closed the piano up, after that he stood and walked back towards the living room to sit on the couch.

"Why did you destroy the film projector?" Kit asked before Connor left the room.

The cop turned towards him and sighed, looking down at the floor. "Because," the father said, "it's against the law," he walked back over to Kit, "in fact, you're not supposed to be up here anyway." He placed his hands on the clock again.

"Wait, please don't," Kit said with pleading eyes, "I don't want to go back in storage, I have dreams too you know."

"Dreams don't exist anymore." Connor said.

"Is that why Malachi is dead?"

Connor lifted Kit from the wall and threw him down on the floor. The clock hands were moving, the tail swayed side to side, the eyes moved robotically. Connor pulled out his gun and shot both the cat's face and the clock face. The hands stopped moving.

* * *

The nurse came into the hospital room. James was awake reading a magazine.

"James," the nurse said, "it's time to check your vitals again." James nodded and let the kindly woman check all of his tubes and machines. When she was done she looked at him and asked, "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Yes, my cell phone, it should be over by my clothes." James said. The nurse nodded and handed him his phone.

"If you need anything else," the nurse said, "just let me know." She smiled, James smiled back. The nurse left the room.

James dialed his mother's phone number. It rang once, twice, a third.

_"_Hello?"

"Oh, hey Mom," James said enthusiastically, "I just called to let you know that I'm okay and that everything's alright, the doctor said that I might be here a few days though. Maybe even close to a week."

"That's great James." His mother said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Hey, do you know where Panchito went, he just kind of left."

"Oh honey," Skye replied with all the sympathy in the world, "there's been an accident. I'm so sorry."

James didn't need to hear anymore, tears rolled down his face, he began to cry out loud. "Did you do it?" He asked.

"Y-y-yes." Skye replied.

James cried even more, the only person who has ever shown him any kindness at all was, to his knowledge, dead.

"He was the only friend I ever really had!" James screamed, "Why do you always do this? You always take everything that's good or great in my life and just piss all over it!"

"James!" His mother cried, "Don't curse!"

"Why did you do it?" James asked.

"It was an accident, I didn't mean to-" Skye started to say.

"Yeah, that's what you said at Mal's funeral, it's what you said when you got thrown in jail for drunk driving three years ago, it's what you said when at my birthday party when you didn't show up. Everything is an accident, that's your excuse for everything and the whole world. An accident. You even said that to me once, that it was an accident. Yeah, I'm the biggest accident in the world." He hung up the phone.

* * *

"James?" His mother said talking into the phone. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and placed her phone in her pocket.

Skye and Harry Jennings stood in Jennings' class room. It was an average sized classroom that fit about thirty or so students. Long black tables, three right next to each other in rows of three filled up most of the space. Harry's desk was in the front of the room and was where the two teachers placed the shattered fragments. At the moment, the figurine was almost done and looked exactly the way it did before.

"One more piece," Harry said, "would you do the honors Skye?"

Skye nodded and carefully glued the last piece of the figurine in place.

Expecting magic, or anything to bring the rooster back to reality, Skye and Harry waited patiently for several minutes. Nothing happened. Nothing. This wasn't a happy Disney ending type of moment. This was no fairy tale, where magic fixes everything, tears and love bring people back, that sort of thing. This was reality, where dead means that your dead...materialistically that is.

"Well," Skye said, "thanks for trying." Harry nodded and shook her hand.

"What was supposed to happen?" Harry asked.

"He was supposed to be come back or something, I honestly don't know. But I guess you can't wish on anything anymore."

They waited for three more hours. Agonizingly fiddling on their phones, playing Angry Birds, texting each other, Skye and Mr. Jennings stood watch, to see if anything would happen.

It got to the point where the school bell rang, the kids and teachers were going home. Skye and Harry still waited, hoping for anything to come up. The figurine lay dormant of any kind of spirit. The cracks and creases that made up the figure made it appear as if the miniature Panchito was crying, but still he held up his smile, that hopeful smile, with eyes welcoming the world to him. That was all. A figurine and nothing more.

* * *

Skye drove home, when she opened the door, she saw Connor, sitting on the couch drinking another glass of wine.

"What happened to the television?" She asked, noticing the damage.

"Ask the chicken." Connor said.

"He's a rooster." Skye corrected.

"Oh, pardon me," Connor turned towards her, placing his arm over the back of the couch and looking like a drunk at a bar who was about to make a terrible decision.

"Ididn'tknowyoutwowerebuddiesnow," Connor slurred.

"You're drunk." Skye said.

"Ohlikeyoudon'teverdoit!" Connor cried. "I'mahumanbeingandIcandowhateverthefuckIwant, it'smyhouse, it'smywine!"

Skye, who didn't want anything to do with him at the moment walked into the other room.

"Hey!" Connor yelled, "Getbackhereyoubitch!"

Skye stopped, turned around, walked military toward her husband and struck him down in his place. "Don't you ever call me that again." She turned towards the formal living room, Connor grabbed her arm.

"Don't think that I won't shoot you too." He said.

"Go ahead." Skye replied and entered the formal room.

She placed the figurine on the piano and noticed that her Kit Kat Klock was damaged, but salvageable. She looked around the room and saw only the projector screen, but no projector. She walked towards the basement door, walked downstairs and saw empty sleeves and picture frames.

Empty sleeves and picture frames.

Empty sleeves and picture frames.

Empty sleeves and picture frames.

* * *

**Song Featured: "1961" by The Fray**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII:**

* * *

**This chapter is the turning point in the story. **

* * *

Skye sat on the couch in the formal living room. Hannibal, another one of Connor's associates, who wasn't a total douchebag and was the closest thing to a family friend, sat across from her. She had personally called him.

"So," Hannibal said, "what favor do you need of me?"

"I need you to watch that figurine." Skye said.

Hannibal smiled, stood from his seat, walked over to the piano and put the figurine in his pocket. "There," he said, "protected."

"I'm serious!" Skye shouted, "It's important."

"What's so important about it exactly?" Hannibal asked a bit confused.

"It's a memento."

Hannibal sighed and resumed his seat. "I have to tell you something, you're not going to like it." He said.

"It's not like my life can get any worse." Skye said.

Hannibal nodded and continued, "Connor organized a hit on Panchito," he said, "yeah I know who he is, he's, he was, my best friend."

"How did you know him?" Skye asked.

"Childhood friends," Hannibal answered, "we keep in touch, or at least we did. Anyway, I don't know what you're planning to do with this figurine you have of him, but you need to bring him back. He can fix this."

"I already tried that, it didn't work."

The good natured associate sighed and leaned in, "Did Mal ever draw anything?"

"Yeah, but I never really paid any attention," Skye answered, "I guess it's too late to do that now."

"No it's not." Hannibal said as he stood and headed up stairs. Skye, confused at what he was doing followed him.

Hannibal entered Mal's room, which was exactly the same as it was before. Glass and paper littered the floor, the bed was unmade, covers spread out in an exhausted state, the window, which was open, allowed the sun to fill the room naturally, a slight wind ruffled the curtains. Hannibal walked to Mal's desk, dust had settled there among the computer, the keyboard, and numerous papers, pens, colored pencils, and the lamp which was on. A fly buzzed around overhead, making himself known but not caring if the world knew he existed. The fly was the only person who wasn't affected by the person who once occupied this room, to the fly, it was just a messy room. As Hannibal searched through the papers, Skye stood in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Skye asked.

"Looking for something," Hannibal said, "Aha!" He cried, "Here it is."

He pulled out an unfinished drawing of Panchito, it was about as close as correct as you could get. Professional looking and drawn with accurate precision, it would've made Ollie and Wolfgang proud. Hannibal cleared off a space, grabbed the chair, and began to do his work.

Hannibal, with the one reference of the figurine, masterfully finished the drawing. He moved his pencil with grace and ease and colored the drawing very carefully, being sure to get the colors exactly right, the lines perfect, and when he was finished he signed it at the bottom. _Mal and Hannibal_

"Alright," Hannibal said, "let's see if this works."

"What are you talking about?" Skye asked.

Hannibal ignored him and rubbed his hands together. He blew into them as if he were trying to warm up from the cold, leaving an opening for air to escape on the other side. The warm carbon dioxide hit the paper, small graphite and colored pencil shavings moved up across the page almost mystic like. Hannibal then cleared his throat and began to sing the only song that he that worked.

_"Came to the cold just to see you. Standing there in expectation, pulling coat and blue staring, oh this vision does me good."_

Skye smiled, remembering the song from her childhood. She bobbed her head, Hannibal just kept on singing.

_"In the city we don't know yet, across the bridges not yet burned where the ice won't let us further, wind our way down through the woods."_

Skye took up the next part with him, making it a duet.

_"Take me to the attic ladder, in the barn with broken floors with your boots of Spanish leather and my hat knit out of yarn, and my hat knit out of yarn."_

They paused, hoping that Panchito would sing the chorus. Nothing. The drawing was just a drawing. Hannibal and Skye looked at the figurine, and sang to it.

_"You are in the seat beside me, you are in my dreams at night, you are in grandmother's wisdom, you are in grandfather's charm."_

Hannibal sighed, "I just really thought this would work, it did before."

"Before?" Skye asked a bit confused.

"You've seen Mary Poppins right?" Hannibal asked. Skye nodded, for everyone has seen that movie, well, at least, everyone that's thirteen or older has seen that movie.

"Well," Hannibal said, "think of me as Bert."

"So you and Panchito go far back?"

Hannibal nodded, "Way back. I thought he would recognize his favorite song, but I guess not." He stood up from his chair and left the room. As he walked down the turned and followed him. They continued singing,

_"Show me your trees in the orchard, with the music on their branches, keep them from the mouths of creatures who intend for them no good."_

They walked past the formal room, noticing that the piano was closed. Skye walked in, hoping that the rooster would magically be there. She sang alone.

_"Take me out past the wind break."_

Hannibal took the next line, _"Speak the thing you could not utter."_

They sang together, _"When we'll howl and moon will cower, at the magic of the word."_

Skye and Hannibal embraced, each of them crying, accepting the realization that Panchito was dead, that people like James were in the hospital, and that people like Connor were still alive.

"Call me okay?" Hannibal said after he calmed down.

Skye nodded with a smile, she laughed, "Okay." She hadn't felt this happy since she married Connor, which in truth was the only happy moment she had ever had with him. Hannibal smiled very gentleman like and left the house.

Skye walked over to the piano and revealed the keys. She then walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine, which she poured slowly. She then walked back into the formal room and sat on the couch, crying her eyes out, thinking about what to do next, about James, divorce came to mind. If only she had the courage to do it. As she was contemplating all this, she heard a very familiar singing voice.

_"Darling this is when I met you,"_

Skye looked over and smiled, Panchito was sitting in his famed chair, still singing,

_"for the third time not the last,"_ the rooster looked over toward her and smiled, _"not the last time we are learning, who we are and what we were."_

At the same time, Hannibal drove past the house, for his car was ancient and needed a few minutes to sit before actually going anywhere and looked towards the house. He smiled as he saw his friend sitting at the piano, and as if he knew where they were in the song, sang the last chorus repetition along with them.

_"You are in the seat beside me, you are in my dreams at night, you are in grandmother's wisdom, you are in grandfather's charm."_

* * *

Skye quickly sat her glass down and rushed over to hug Panchito who made the move first making for the best timed hug ever.

"Thank you." Skye whispered.

"I take it that you missed me?" Panchito asked with a slight laugh.

Panchito looked over and noticed that Kit was not on the wall but on the floor. His face turned to immediate disbelief. Skye looked over too, also first time noticing the damage. The rooster began to tear up, he walked towards his friend, bent down and made the sign of the cross.

Tears fell down his face and dropped towards the floor, Panchito was half hoping that the so called "Disney magic" where tears of love cure death would work, but this wasn't a film where everybody gets a happy ending.

"Oh Kit," Panchito said, "you were always a good friend." He removed his sombrero, bowed his head and spoke again, "El sol sale cada mañana. Gracias por decirme que, y para que no se concediera en mí. Dormir bien hermano." _The sun rises every morning. Thanks for telling me that, and for never giving up on me. Sleep well brother._

Skye walked over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry Panchito."

The rooster smiled a bit, "What is there to be sorry about?"

"Your friend is dead," Skye said, "that's usually something that people say-"

"When they give meaningless sympathy? You can sorry or it'll be okay all you want to and for a moment it helps, but really it has no meaning. People just say that to make themselves feel better, knowing that they said at least _something_." Panchito replied as he stood up.

Skye rolled her eyes and sighed, "I was just trying to be nice."

Panchito nodded, "As much that is appreciated senora," he said, "I honestly could care less if you were trying to be a total bitch or a saint. It would be the same thing."

The mother walked out of the room, angry at him for being dismissive.

"Hey, where are you going?" The rooster asked.

"Fuck you!" Skye shouted and made her way to the kitchen. As she was walking Panchito pulled out a pistol, aimed it at her head and fired...

"Your friend is dead," Skye said, "that's usually something that people say-"

"When they," Panchito stopped himself from saying the rest of it. He looked up at Skye for a moment. "I'm sorry but have I ever shot you before?"

"Um...no." Skye replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think I just had a daydream where I did, you were walking into the kitchen or something and I just snapped and bang, I shot you." Panchito said.

"It was just a daydream Panchito," Skye said, "it's probably just you trying to cope."

"Possibly," Panchito said agreeing with her, "but aren't you the least bit concerned?"

"No." Skye answered.

"Why?"

"Because," Skye said, "it's just not in your nature."

"Oh," Panchito stood up smiling a bit, "and what do you know about my nature?"

"I just know." The mother retorted with a smile and made her way toward the kitchen. "Wanna drink?" She asked.

Panchito shrugged his shoulders, "Well, one couldn't hurt." He said and followed her.

In the living room, Connor was beginning to stir. He heard Skye and sat up, "Hey while you're up," he said, not paying any real attention, "can you-" he looked over and saw the rooster. Panchito looked over and smiled at him.

"Oh," the rooster said walking over to him, "I see that someone has been drinking this morning."

"Get the fuck out of my house." Connor said.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there!" Panchito backed off, hands in the air as if in confrontation with police. "There's no need for that."

A knock at the door. Panchito turned around and answered it, ignoring Connor.

A man in a black jacket, hat and sunglasses stood in the doorway. Outside was a black van. This man's name was Venice.

"Are you the one they call Panchito Pistoles?" Venice asked. Panchito nodded.

"Yeah, is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes there is," Venice took off his sunglasses, classic movie cop move. "would you come with me please?"

Venice walked towards the van. Panchito cautiously followed, his mind moving towards the defensive. Venice stopped in the middle of the yard.

_I wonder what this guy wants,_ Panchito thought, _apparently I did something, said something, or saw something that I wasn't supposed to, or it could be the sugar-coke incident. Yeah, I bet that's it. I always mix those two up, coke goes to police station, sugar goes to Wendy's. I need to write that down somewhere._

"Are you aware that-"

Panchito placed his hand on his heart and interrupted him. "Officer there were not any illegal drugs in my van I swear."

"I don't care about your police work Mr. Pistoles," Venice said.

"Oh," Panchito said, "then what do you care about?"

"Mr. Pistoles," Venice said, "you are being charged with first degree murder for the assassination of Mr. Malachi Fever and the attempted murders of Connor Fever, James Fever, and fifty others. I am also here to pronounce and carry out your sentence, which is, as required by law in both the state of Florida and in the United States, for you to be executed immediately."

Panchito looked at Venice suspiciously, "Where is your proof?"

Venice sighed, "Multiple bullet wounds in Mr. Connor Fever, a bullet wound in Mr. James Fever-"

"Hold on, did you say a bullet wound in James?" Panchito asked.

"Yes sir," Venice said, "we traced the serial number and the caliber to your handguns."

"But how I was here the whole time, who could've used my pistols to shot James, besides, he's in a hospital."

"That explains the fifty others Mr. Pistoles." Venice said.

"Are you saying that I tried to kill fifty people in a hospital!" Panchito shouted. "How do you even know that I was there?"

Venice turned towards the van and opened the back door. Inside was the typical setup of computers and surveillance footage. Panchito walked over and sure enough, there he was exactly doing the deeds that Venice described. The rooster on the feed entered James' room and closed the door. It stayed that way for seven minutes. A single shot was fired.

Panchito just stared at the security feed, tears flowed down his face, he lowered his head, closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. He began to clench his hands into bleeding fists, veins popped out of his head, his brow furrowed furiously, his mind however was perfectly clear. Venice slowly pulled out his sidearm, readied it to fire, pressed the barrel on the back of Panchito's head, and placed his finger on the trigger. Slowly Venice applied pressure on the trigger.

"Any last words Mr. Pistoles?"

Panchito said nothing, he simply turned his head toward the pistol barrel, eyes still closed and breathed in and out a final time. A click, the bullet would be hurling soon. Still, the rooster did nothing, but stand there, letting all of his rage build. Another click, and another. Venice pressed the trigger all the way. Panchito opened his eyes, giving the most badass Kubrick stare ever.

"Misfire?" Panchito said a bit deviously.

"Yeah." Venice said with a disappointed sigh. Panchito looked at Venice's face, and noticed where a former scar was. A former scar that was familiar to both of them. Once again, the rooster smiled.

"Why if it isn't Senor Diego Montes," the rooster said with a deep, revenge filled laugh. "passing off as a federal agent was clever, you almost had me fooled. But alas you were born an idiot and didn't count on me seeing through actor's makeup."

"How did you know I was wearing actor's makeup?" Venice, who was indeed Mr. Montes asked.

"I worked for Disney, I think I know what actor's makeup looks like." Panchito said, "by the way," he said, grabbing Diego's pistol and disarming him simply by lifting it out of Diego's hand. "who are you working for?"

"Nobody." Diego said.

"You're a bounty hunter, a hired gun, and a drug lord, you have to be working for-" Panchito stopped himself. He looked back towards the house, a scream, a gunshot. The rooster bolted in.

The living room was a disaster, blood sprayed the walls, two men, both of them large and wearing ski masks, each armed with an M-16, had Skye gagged with a cloth and Connor on the floor unconscious. The man that was near Skye looked over towards Panchito.

"He's here!" He shouted aiming his weapon at the rooster.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Panchito said, pulling out his pistols and twirling them twice. His fingers landed on the trigger and he fired. The bullets entered the two men, they fell on the floor.

Panchito sheathed his weapons and removed Skye's gag. The woman cried, "They s-s-shot me."

"Can you move?" Panchito asked.

Skye nodded, "Yeah." She stood up.

The rooster looked at Connor, he walked over and kneeled beside him. He checked his pulse.

"He's still alive, but barely." Panchito said. He slowly heaved him over his shoulder and stood up. He struggled his way out the door and made his way across the lawn.

Diego smiled and aimed his gun, which Panchito dropped when he ran inside, as soon as Panchito came into view again. The rooster looked at him. "Not now." The rooster said as he placed Connor in the back of the black van.

"Alright," Panchito said, "now."

Diego stepped towards him, pistol raised. "You ready for this?" Diego asked. Panchito smiled and pulled out his pistols.

"Say when." Diego said.

Panchito raised his eyebrows and fired two shots in Diego's chest. He then pulled out a paso from his pocket and flicked it. The Mexican coin landed on Diego's chest in a small pool of blood. "When."

Skye walked out slowly, when she reached the van she got into the passenger. Panchito closed the back door and shut Skye's door for her before getting into the driver's seat.

"So," Skye said, "are we headed to the hospital?" She asked.

Panchito nodded, "Si senora, I'd say we have about twenty minutes to get there."

"Why is that?" Skye asked.

"Because in twenty minutes or so, James will be dead, you will be infected, and Connor will possibly die on the way."

"What are you talking about?!" Skye shouted.

"I'll explain everything, just do me a favor," Panchito said.

"What's that?" Skye asked.

The rooster began driving as quickly as possible down the road towards the hospital, "don't die."

* * *

**Song Featured: "Josh McBride" by The Head and the Heart**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX:**

**This chapter is inspired by "_All Signs Point to Lauderdale",_ a song by A Day to Remember**

* * *

James slept in his room. He dreamt about better times, about cartoons, about his friends, specially Panchito, telling him that everything was going to be okay. Small tears ran down his face, the fear of cancer was beginning to set in.

The door opened. Slowly, a friendly vision of disguised death came next to James' bedside.

"James!"

James stirred, opened his eyes and saw Panchito. Or so he thought. This rooster wore black instead of the usual red, and when he was in shadow or darkness, the entire eyeball turned into a bloodshot crimson color, his beak turned into a hook, almost crow like, his teeth grew more numerous and sharp like a Great White Shark's set does.

"Panchito," James asked, "What's wrong with you?"

The rooster grinned, "Nothing mi amigo," he pulled out his pistols, spun them counterclockwise (the benevolent Panchito always spins them clockwise, as a reminder for him to keep moving forward but James did not know this). He laughed like Satan, which is on where his heart came from.

"Everything is fucking grand!" Panchito cried as he aimed both pistols at James' head and torso.

James trembled, "Panchito," he said, trying to reason with the possessed bird, "don't do this, please, I'm your friend. We are friends right?"

"Fuck off bitch." Panchito said as he retargeted his weapons and shot James twice. James screamed in anguish, quickly pressing the nurse call button. Panchito turned and shot that too, rendering it useless.

The rooster made his way to the closet, opened the door and let his associate out. James looked over and saw who it was, he shook his head.

"Why?" James asked.

The man stepped out of the closet, pulled out his own pistol and aimed it. "Business James, it's all a part of business." He readied the weapon, turned the safety off, and fired.

The other Panchito, the one that was trying to save everyone, was ironically unintentionally trying to kill them in the same process. For one thing he was speeding, crossed several medians, and went from having a perfect driving record in the world to the worst driving record in human history. Seven accidents, forty-seven injured, one hundred and eighty seven people killed, and millions of dollars done in damage. However, they still made it to the hospital.

"Everyone okay?" Panchito asked when he put it in park.

Skye was horrified, her hair a mess, her eyes bulging, she was even in the fetal position rocking back and forth, mumbling a mantra to herself:

_"This is a nightmare, this is a nightmare, this is a nightmare." _

Panchito looked back to see if Connor was still there, he was. "Alright," the rooster said, "I'm going in there."

"O-o-o-okay." Skye said still shaken up.

"No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, do not follow me. Understand?" Panchito said.

Skye nodded, Panchito got out of the van.

"Any particular reason?" Skye called.

"Simple senora," Panchito said, checking his pistols, "I may not come back out."

The alarm was raised, people began to evacuate, the police sirens were drawing closer. Panchito marched on in. Skye quickly followed him.

"Panchito!"

The rooster turned back as Skye embraced him, tears fell down her face.

"Go save my son." She said as she let go.

Panchito nodded, "Adios senora."

Skye shook her head, "No, muchos gracias."

Panchito tipped his hat and continued his charge.

Our hero battled a stampede of frightened, confused, and awkward rejected hotel hospital soap smelling people. Nurses and doctors were rushing people in wheelchairs, mother's in labor, and recent arrivals out the door. Frequently Panchito was stopped by a janitor or doctor telling him to evacuate but all he had to do was produce his guns quickly and they ran off.

_I can go to jail later,_ Panchito said, _right now I've got to save my hijo. _At this point, Panchito considered James his son and also at this point was willing at the second to take a bullet for him as sacrifice. He figured that it would come to that.

Heart racing, sweating like no tomorrow, Panchito entered James' room.

The lights were off, James was still alive but in about three seconds would be with his brother. Panchito quickly pulled his weapons aiming it directly at the man from the closet. The dark devilish version of the rooster was nowhere to be seen. Without question or thinking, Panchito fired. The bullet whizzed through the air hitting the attacker in the pistol bearing arm. The man dropped the pistol and fell to the floor. The pistol also fell to the floor but it also fired, Panchito did not see where the bullet went.

The rooster walked over to the man and lifted him up by the shirt collar.

"Let's talk outside shall we?" Panchito said, lifting the man into the air and exiting the room.

Once in the hallway Panchito pinned him to the wall. Aiming a pistol in one hand and holding him in the other, the rooster gave him his Kubrick stare.

"Alright you miserable piece of shit," Panchito said, "who the fuck sent you!"

The man laughed. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"The fuck you aren't!" Panchito shouted, "I don't think you understand what you just did didn't you?"

"Elaborate Mr. Pistoles on what I just did." The man said.

"Gladly you motherfucking whore," the rooster said, "you attempted to shoot my best friend, the only person who ever gave a damn about me, you shot my son you sick retarded bastard. I'm about six fucking seconds to sending you off!"

The man laughed.

"Guess what asshole?" Panchito asked. He fired. "It's been six seconds." The bullet hit the man in the chest. The rooster fired again, and again and kept on doing so until he was out of ammunition. All while holding him up with his hand.

Panchito let go of him, the body slid to the floor, followed by a ghastly river of blood. The rooster sheathed his weapons and quickly re-entered James' room.

Rushing over to the bedside with tears in his eyes, Panchito checked James' pulse.

"James?" Panchito asked.

He examined him, a bullet in the chest, a bullet in the arm and the bullet that Panchito didn't see. The one that ultimately killed James went straight into his left eye, completely destroying it. Panchito saw this and screamed his head off, angry at himself, angry at the world, vowing extreme vendetta.

Sinister laughing.

Panchito looked up and saw his evil self, who was stepped in darkness, and was smiling.

"You could've saved him," he said, "oh wait, no you couldn't have!"

"Who are you?" Panchito asked.

The evil self sneered, "It's a shame you didn't recognize my associate. He was your first miserable attempt at your bold crusade."

"Hannibal?" Panchito asked. "Why would he do something like this? It doesn't make sense!"

"That's the way the world is Panchito," his evil self said, "you can call me Ark by the way."

"Well," Panchito said, walking towards him, as he reloaded both pistols "I personally don't give a fuck on what your name is," he aimed his right pistol at Ark's head. "Just tell me what I need to know."

Ark laughed, "Like what?

"Where did you come from?" Panchito asked.

"Let's see, I'm an evil incarnation of you, so where do you think I came from?" Ark asked.

"My soul?"

Ark nodded, "Exactly."

Panchito smiled and cocked his pistol, "There's one small problem to that answer I'm afraid," he said.

"Oh? What's that?" Axel said.

"I killed that demon years ago." Panchito answered and fired. Ark screamed and wailed, shriveling up like the Wicked Witch of the West.

When it was over, Panchito stood alone the hospital room. He quickly exited, not wanting to be the same room as James, feeling as if he were somehow disrespecting him.

The rooster rushed back out of the hospital and he was immediately arrested. However, Don Ontario, Connor's fence arrived and explained the situation to officials. The rooster was taken to Ontario's car.

"I know about Hannibal," Don Ontario said. "I know everything."

"Who told you?" Panchito asked.

"I knew about it the whole time, I just didn't think it would actually happen," Ontario said. Panchito nodded and buckled himself in. "we need to get you out of the country." Ontario said.

"Por que?"

"I'm assuming that's Spanish for why?" Ontario asked. Panchito nodded. "Because people are trying to kill you and the boss." Ontario said.

"Who's behind all this?" Panchito asked.

"Good question." Ontario replied, "But to be honest," he said, "does that really matter, someone's after you, and whoever that somebody is crossed a line. You seem to handle yourself, but you're outnumbered. Let's get you somewhere safe, think of a game plan, and then go after these bastards."

Panchito nodded, "Alright."

Don Ontario grabbed Skye and Connor on the way out of the hospital parking lot and drove towards the outskirts of the city. Skye was crying, realizing that James wasn't there with them. Panchito placed a hand on her shoulder sympathetically.

"He loved you," Skye said, "I know that you tried your best, and that's all I can really ask for."

Panchito shook his head, "I could've saved him."

"What?" Skye asked a bit confused.

"I could've saved him." Panchito repeated.

"What do you mean?"

The rooster sighed, "I didn't aim for the head and what's worse was, I did it on purpose."

Skye looked at Don, "Stop the car." Don slammed the breaks.

The woman took a deep breath and closed her eyes, "Are you saying that you wanted my son to die?"

"No!" Panchito cried, but Skye noticed a bit of hesitancy.

"You hesitated." Skye said.

"What? No I didn't I-"

"You had to think about it?!" Skye cried, "I can't believe this, you betrayed me, and you betrayed James." Tears fell down her face. The rooster tried to comfort her but failed miserably.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Panchito said, also crying now, "I just wanted to help you."

"By killing him?" Ontario asked, getting into the wrong end of the conversation.

"I wasn't holding the gun that killed James, Hannibal was! I shot him at the wrong place, how could I expect the gun to go off as soon as he dropped it? I didn't want to kill anybody! All I wanted to do was to help you people," the rooster sighed, 'I guess I failed." Panchito looked up at the sky via the window. "Alright Kit you win! I guess you were right, I can't change these people, I can't do a single fucking thing right!" He kicked the back of the seat.

Skye screamed her head off, "Get out of here you bastard!"

"Fine!" Panchito shouted and exited the car, slamming the door as he did so.

The rooster walked back to the house, it took him three hours. Busting through the formal living room window no longer caring, Panchito began to go on a rampage.

He ripped up the couch, the sofa, destroyed tables, glasses, silverware, cups, appliances, further destroyed the already destroyed television by completely dismantling it and even went so far as to shoot the piano to pieces. When all of this was over, the rooster collapsed on the floor and screamed nonstop for seventeen minutes.

"Well, well," a voice said from behind the grieving rooster. "What do we have here?"

Panchito turned and saw a woman dressed in a business suit with a gun in her hand, the barrel aimed at the rooster's head.

"A retired police officer who just so happens to be a chicken," the woman laughed, "how amusing."

Panchito stood up, "Rooster actually," he said correcting her, "and you are?"

"Patricia Watts, Federal Agent, you are wanted for terroristic threats, murder, deception and kidnapping."

"Wait, I understand all of those except the last one," Panchito said, "who did I 'kidnap' exactly?" He asked putting air quotes around the word kidnap.

"James Fever." Watts said.

"Wait, how can that be, he was just killed?" Panchito said a bit confused.

"Just killed?" Watt asked, "Sir, he's been in your custody for quite some time now."

"What are you talking about?" Panchito asked, getting more confused.

"You've been holding him hostage for seven years Mr. Gonzales." Watts said.

"Seven years? I'm not a kidnapper!"

Watts smiled, "Really? I'm going to have a hard time believing that Mr. Gonzales." She pulled out handcuffs and handcuffed the rooster, kicking him hard to the ground. She then shot him.

"Wow," Watts said, "you are gullible." She walked out of the room, Panchito, who was in grave pain, turned towards her, scolding her all the way. "By the way, he's not dead."

"Where is he!" Panchito cried, wanting to break his wrists so he could break this woman's back.

Watts laughed, "He's in a trunk. But since you're now a branded terrorist, I doubt you'll be able to save him in time." She walked toward the door. "Shame really, such promise, so much potential, yet you wasted it on a fucking boy!"

"Don't you d-d-dare say that about him, you can say it to me all you want, fuck me over, call me a piece of shit, I don't care, I can take it, but not him. Not James, he deserves better."

Patricia smiled, "He deserves to die, just like his brother."

Panchito crawled towards her and using her body for support, by grabbing her pants and eventually her shirt to pull himself to his feet, the rooster caught his breath, for the effort strained him. Nonetheless, he spoke.

"You're a bitch, just like your mother. What happened to the girl I used to know?" Panchito asked.

"She died when she ran for office Panchito," Patricia said, "you of all people should be familiar with that." She walked to the door and left. The rooster fell to the floor.

About an hour later Panchito's phone rang. He answered it.

"Hello?" He said, still on the floor.

"Panchito, it's James, you gotta come and get me or they're going to-"

The line disconnected. Panchito tried to re-dial but it just went to voicemail.

"Fuck!" The rooster cried, both literally and figuratively.

Panchito looked out the window and noticed two things, the sun was setting and the black van with Don Ontario in front, Skye in the back, and Connor still unconscious. Don rushed to the door, opened it and heaved the rooster over his shoulder.

"You alright?" Don asked rushing to the van.

Panchito slowly strapped himself in the back seat next to Connor.

"Did you see a woman leave the house?" The rooster asked.

Don looked at him, confused, "No, why was a woman there with you?"

Panchito nodded.

"Who was she?" Don asked.

"Patricia Watts." Panchito answered.

Don shook his head, "Patricia Watts has been dead for seven years sir, hey what's your name anyway, I just realized that we were never formally introduced."

"Panchito," the rooster answered, "the pissed off ex-sheriff of Pátzcuaro."

"Really any interesting stories?" Don asked as he drove off.

"A bounty hunter stole some of my uncle's money and tried to my family. That's how I got the sheriff actually." Panchito asked.

"Saving them?"

Panchito smiled, "Killing that son of a bitch."

Don nodded, "Who was he?"

"Diego Montes." Panchito answered.

"Who'd he work for?" Don asked.

"The same person who shot me, now drive!" Panchito shouted as Don sped down the street.


	10. Chapter 10: The Final Chapter

**Chapter X:**

Patricia Watts walked into the garage of the Fever house. A black 2001 Saturn sat in the garage. The engine was running, slowly filling the room up with carbon dioxide.

Watts walked to the trunk, opened it and smiled, James, who was beaten, bruised and gagged, looked up at the woman and screamed.

"No one can hear you." Patricia said, she removed the gag.

"Where's my parents?" James asked.

"Your parents are dead." Patricia replied with a hinting smile.

"No they're not, you're lying!"

Patricia nodded, "Yes, but not for long." She closed the trunk, walked over the garage door, opened it, and got into the car.

She pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number.

"Hello?" The receiving end said.

Patricia smiled, "You know what to do." She said, hanging up the phone, getting the driver's seat and speeding towards the nearest parking garage.

Don Ontario sped through the streets of downtown. The traffic light turned red, giving everyone a moment to breathe.

"How do we know where James is?" Ontario said.

"No se," Panchito said, "just start looking I guess."

The light turned green, slowly, Ontario drove through the streets, looking for any sign of movement in trunks. A busted light, a dent, an open one. Anything. As they searched the downtown main streets and side streets and everything in between, Skye started to cry.

"Please be alright James." she whispered in between tears.

"He's alright ma'am," Don said, "if anything happens to him, I'll going to kill those motherfuckers."

"I'll second that." Panchito replied, he then looked at the woman who desperately wanted to check every single trunk in the city.

"You have to have hope." the rooster said.

"What good is hope if you can't see it?" Skye asked.

"That's why it's called hope, you can't see it, you just have to believe that you can. Hope is always there, you just have to find it." Panchito answered.

"Oh really, can you give me a map?"

Panchito smiled, as he pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a number, did some rapid Spanish and hung up.

"Who did you call?" Skye asked.

"A friend of mine," Panchito said, "he's going to help us."

"Where is he, matter of fact, who is he?"

Panchito just laughed to himself. That was all the answer he gave her.

Connor meanwhile, stirred in the backseat. He opened his eyes and saw Skye sitting next to him. He sat up. "What's going on?" Connor asked.

"James has been kidnapped." Skye answered, "We're trying to find him."

"Kidnapped," Connor looked down at his feet, "by who?"

"Patricia Watts." Panchito answered.

"Patricia, are you sure?" Connor asked. Panchito nodded. Connor sighed, "Well, I'm sorry." Connor said, he looked out the window, a parking garage was nearby. "Pull into that garage Don." Connor continued.

Don Ontario made his way in, paid the fee and starting driving up.

"What do you want me to do boss?" Don asked.

"Go to the roof." Connor said. Don nodded and continued. As Don made his way up, he pulled out his phone and texted a message to a certain number. Very quickly the receiver of the message responded back. Connor looked down at his phone and smiled, almost wolf like. Panchito looked back at him for a moment, and grew a bit uneasy at this smile, he quickly turned back around and tried his best to ignore it. He said nothing.

On the roof was Patricia Watts, for she took the back roads rather intentionally to this parking lot. She got out of the car, opened the trunk and forced James to his feet on the asphalt.

"Look around James," Patricia said, pulling out a Beretta M9, a military issued pistol, "this is the world you got yourself into." She moved to the front of the kid and removed the gag.

"Why are you doing this to me?" James said, "What did I do to you?" He asked.

"Simple honey," Patricia said in a sarcastic sweet voice. "You're obsolete."

"You didn't really answer my question ma'am." James said. "_Why_ are you doing this to me?"

"Well aren't you precocious." Patricia said in annoyance. "Alright, I'm doing this because I can't have people like you around. People who believe in creativity, people who give other people ideas. Ideas are bad for the world. Don't you know that?"

"Apparently not." James said with a smile.

Patricia loaded the Beretta just as Don pulled up onto the roof. Patricia smiled. "Oh look, it seems that we have company."

Don stopped the car and quickly got out. "James," he said calmly, "don't move okay."

James nodded. Panchito exited the car.

"Senora!" He called with all the fury he could muster, "let the niño go, it's me you want."

Patricia nodded and aimed the pistol at James' head. "Yes, you are what I want Panchito, but I also want him," she did a weird nasal noise, that a crazy person would do in a comedy film. "looks like I can have both."

"Let go of my son you bitch!" Skye screamed.

Patricia smiled big and large as she slowly but surely walked towards the edge of the parking and leaned James over the edge, placing his head towards the ground. Panchito followed them, pistols out, ready to fire, intent on killing this crazy insane person and ending this family's grief.

The clicking of a gun, the firing. Panchito turned around and saw Connor, out of the car, Beretta drawn, Don injured on the pavement. Skye was knocked out.

"I'm sorry that it had to come to this Mr. Pistoles," Connor said, "but it's either you or my son."

"Shoot me." Panchito said immediately. He looked at both of them, "Go on, both of you! You both hate me, both want to see me dead, so why don't you both shoot me and leave the boy out of this. It's a win-win for you."

"Actually Mr. Pistoles," Patricia said, "it's not as you say a 'win-win'."

"What are you talking about?" Connor said. "Yes it is!"

"Actually, Mr. Fever," Patricia said repeating herself, "it isn't. It's more of a win-loss. Yes the rooster will be dead but that means that your son will leave and well, loose ends and everything."

Panchito looked her dead in the eye aiming a pistol at her head, "If you so much as move another inch," he said, "believe me, I will not hesitate to kill you. ¿Me entienden?"

"No." Patricia said with a smile.

Panchito rolled his eyes, "Oh you know what I mean!"

"No I seriously, have no idea what you're saying." Patricia said, "Can we get some subtitles please?"

Panchito sighed deeply as if annoyed and pulled out a Magic Marker that was literally a magic marker from his sleeve and wrote out the English translation. Patricia squinted her eyes and read it. She nodded. "Okay, got it." Panchito nodded quickly, erased the words with his sleeve, put the marker back and resumed his serious composure.

The wind picked up, the world stood at a standstill. From the corner of his eye, Panchito could see Connor moving for the car, as if he were going to do something he always wanted to do. Without looking in their direction and simply relying on instinct and luck to guide the bullet, Panchito fired towards Connor. The bullet hit target, just above Connor's head. James screamed.

"Don't worry James," Panchito said to him, "your Dad's a trooper. He'll be okay.," he aimed his pistols at Patricia, " Just hold still?"

James nodded, "Panchito," he said, "if I don't make it-"

"Don't say that, you're going to be fine." Panchito said as he slowly made his way over to them.

"Patricia," the rooster said, "I know you want to kill me, I don't know why really, but I know that's what you want and that's fine, I'm okay with that, but please, I implore you, don't kill this boy who has done nothing to you!"

"I'm sorry Panchito," Patricia said, "but I can't do that."

"Alright Pontius Pilate," Panchito said, "what do you want me to do?"

"Give up your weapons." Patricia said. Panchito nodded, placed his pistols on the ground and kicked them to the side. "Alright, now what."

"Get on your knees." She commanded, the rooster did so.

She let James go, who ran to the safety of Don's car. Connor looked at his son in a weird way as if he was glad he was alive but still kind of wanting to kill him, but he also saw Panchito and noticed something. Every time James needed him, the rooster was always there. Every. Single. Time. He was just passed out drunk or yelling at him, not being a father figure, not being anything but a complete and total dick.

Connor walked over, looked Patricia in the eye and placed his hand on Panchito's shoulder, who currently had his hands behind his head as if in a hostage situation. The rooster looked up at him and smiled a bit, muttering to himself, "Thank you, Lord."

"Mr. Fever," Patricia said, "what are you doing?"

"I'm resigning my position ma'am, you told me that you were going to see me son to greatness, but when I heard about him missing," he looked down at the rooster, "yeah I'm not that stupid chicken." Panchito laughed to himself, "Then I knew you played me. You used me to get rid of our mutual hatred. Now I don't like this rooster, I personally would love to shoot him in the face, but I'm not going to." He helped Panchito up.

"What are you saying?" Patricia asked.

Panchito turned towards her, "He's saying, fuck you bitch!"

Connor shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah, that's about right." He smiled for the first time in life it seemed and looked at his (former) boss, "You can go back to your job now, I quit."

He took a small bow and walked towards the car with Panchito in tow.

"You know," Connor said, "the only reason I saved you was because of James right?"

Panchito smiled, "I got the hint senor," he got into the car, "I'm not that stupid."

Connor picked up Don and sat him in the backseat with Skye and James. Panchito was in the passenger and Connor took the driver seat and was just about to drive off when..._bang_. The car, as well as the world stopped.

Connor slumped over, looking very reminiscent of the first bullet John F. Kennedy experienced. Panchito turned and saw Patricia aiming for James' head. The rooster instructed him to get low to the ground.

"Come on out!" Patricia shouted. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

Panchito looked back at her, giving her the ultimate Kubrick stare. He slowly opened the door, aimed his pistol and shot. The bullet went straight into Patricia's torso, shattering the heart and exiting through the back. It was glorious. She fell gracefully and like the fallen angel she was, hit the pavement hard.

Panchito twirled his pistol in two revelations, put it back in his holster and said. "That's for messing with my family you bitch." He then slammed the car door, removed Connor's from the driver's seat into the trunk and drove off.

Later that night, Panchito fixed dinner. It was a specialty of his. Mexican Hamburgers, which was basically like a regular hamburger but with Panchito's homemade salsa, cheese, and spices, along with sides of corn, peas, and mashed potatoes, it was a pretty nice meal. Don was invited too and for once, the world made sense. There was no alcohol, no beatings, no kidnappings, no FBI, no government, nothing but a family and a rooster.

The next day, with Panchito's help, Skye, James, and Don painted the house, bought a new Blu-Ray player, and a new television.

The day after Connor's funeral, which was Friday, June 25th, exactly two weeks after he had met James, Panchito Pistoles left.

Leaving a note, promising that he would come back soon but that he had to take care of some business elsewhere, this is on what Panchito said:

* * *

_To the Fevers:_

_The past few weeks have been interesting. That's all I really have to say about that. _

_I want to let you all know that I'm leaving for a few months to go do some work in South Sudan, that place could really use a lot of hope right now._

_I also wanted to thank you all for believing in me and I wanted to tell you specifically why I came here in the first place. Originally, my goal was to save myself. For the cartoons of yesteryear were fading away and disappearing forever. So e__ver since I got fired from Disney I've been travelling around from bar to bar, town to town looking for a place to call home. I finally came across your house and saw James, I saw a certain spark in his eye, a glimmer of hope for me. I said to myself, 'If there's one person who can help me, it's that kid right there.' So I started showing up here. You might say that you know the rest of it, and for the most part you do, but let me tell you something changed in me the day I first met him (James). I saw how broken you all were and realized how selfish I was being to ask people to help fix me when they can't even fix themselves. So I decided to help you. I hope I managed to do some good._

_As I got to know you guys better, I started thinking to myself how fitting a certain song was that I was currently practicing on the piano. It's called "Passenger" and it's about a man confessing his love for a woman. One of the lyrics goes like this: "All that you want, is standing right in front of you, all that you need is love." I figured that's on what you guys needed too. _

_We all make mistakes, I'm no saint, but love is one of those unconditional emotions that can be given without thought simply because it is necessary. Without it, where would we go, what would we do?_

_As far as personality is concerned, Connor wasn't the best person in the world, I never thought he was a bad person, just a bit confused. He proved me right in the parking lot that day. I know he would've been so proud of you all. I just thought you might want to know that he loved you, even though it didn't seem like it, he was only doing what he thought was best for you, which is on what any good father or husband should do. _

_Oh, and James, you said that you played baseball right? Let me know when the season starts up again next year, I would love to be assistant coach. Who knows, we might go all the way! Ha! Wouldn't that be something?_

_To Senora Skye, I think you should consider going to AA meetings (for real this time) and Don Ontario is a good man, you should keep him around. I like him. _

_Oh and Mal's number and address is on the fridge, James asked me once how I knew his name, and I didn't really answer him. Now he knows why._

_In one of the kitchen drawers there is a disc, put it in the DVD player._

_"Do you where you're heart is, do you think you can find it? Did you trade it for something, somewhere, better just to have it. Do you know where your love, do you think that you lost it? You felt it so strong but nothing's turned out how you want it. Well bless my soul, you're a lonely soul, cause you won't let go, of anything you hold! Well all I need, is the air I breathe, and a place to rest my head. Do you know what your fate is and are you trying to shake, you're doing your best dance, your best look, praying that you'll make it. __Well bless my soul, you're a lonely soul, cause you won't let go, of anything you hold! Say __all I need, is the air I breathe, and a place to rest my head." - One Republic, (Say) All I Need________  
_

_____Thanks for giving me a pillow. (You should look up the song, it's beautiful, teary eyed moment writing this by the way)_

_____Anyway, see you around._

_Your Friend and Faithful Caballero,_

_Panchito Pistoles_

* * *

James read the note first and immediately ran to the fridge and called the number.

"Mal?" James asked.

"James, is that you?" A voice answered.

"Yeah," James said almost crying, knowing that it was his brother, "how did you survive?"

Mal laughed, "Let's just say that I know a guy with a trick or two up his sleeve."

James smiled, turned around and saw Mal in the living room, standing there, looking a bit older, but otherwise the same. Scars were noticeable but James didn't care- he ran to him, embraced, and cried.

Unbeknownst to James, Mal had already put in Panchito's disc and it started playing. It was Panchito, playing and singing a song, and it was fitting for the occasion.

Skye walked down stairs and poured herself a morning cup of coffee, for she had already knew about Mal and made her reconciliations. Don walked down the stairs after that and saw the two boys, smiled, and watched.

Panchito began his heart song. Not a heartbreak song, but a heart song, which happier than the breaking one and is more hopeful of future encounters with the person singing it.

_Six on the second hand to New Year's Resolutions, and there's just no question, what this man should do. Take all the time lost, all the day that I cost, take what I took and give it back to you._

As he sang the chorus, Panchito rather intentionally looked at the camera that he had placed and smiled as if his heart was in the right place, singing the right song, and that morally, he did the right thing and not only saved James, but an entire family, and an ideal, which he figured, they may not believe in it yet, but at least they know what it is.

_All this time we were waiting for each other, all this time I was waiting for you, we got all these words can't waste them on another so I'm straight in a straight line running back to you._

_I don't know what day it is, I had to check the paper, I don't know the city but it isn't home. You say I'm lucky, to love something that loves me, but I'm torn as I could wherever I roam here me say,_

_All this time we were waiting for each other, all this time I was waiting for you, we got all these words can't waste them on another so I'm straight in a straight line running back to you. Yeah, oh running back to you. Oh, running back to you. _

_Yeah!_

_Oh, ever drop so far, ever drop so far, to get back where you are._

_All this time we were waiting for each other, all this time I was waiting for you, we got all this love can't waste it on another so I'm straight in a straight line running back to you._

_I'm straight in a straight line running back to you._

_I'm straight in a straight line running back to you. _

Frankly, Panchito feared that he would eventually be destroyed or killed when the family was sick or forgot about him. But that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that he got to share a moment, granted a premeditated moment, but a moment nonetheless with the family that he imagined would accept him back once he returned.

Skye watched the video standing from the kitchen doorway and smiled when Panchito turned the camera around and started filming the wall, which had a projector screen, a projector, which was playing cartoons. An hour later, when the reel was over, Panchito stopped filming and put the camera away as soon as James walked barefooted through the house wearing the baseball shirt.

"James, could you please get the cat clock from the basement?" His mother asked.

James looked the piano, noticing that it looked like someone had been playing it rather recently. The piano was prepared to play, the keys were showing and the top was up, revealing the inner workings. "Strange," James said, walking over to the instrument, "this piano never gets used." He pulled the cover over the piano keys and put the top down. "I wonder who was playing it." A draft. The window next to the piano was open.

James closed it.

* * *

**Fin**

* * *

**Dedicated to: **

**Joaquin Garay (1911-1990)**

Original Voice Actor to Panchito Pistoles

* * *

**Author's Note:** The Disney character in this story, Panchito Pistoles, was partly inspired by me in the sense that I believe that it is important for the cartoons of the Golden Age of American Animation to be shared as pieces of American History that continue to shape the way we look at entertainment and the world, as well as the arts, which play an important part of the creative and inspirational process.

All of the songs and lyrics mentioned in these story are the property of the artists and their respected companies.

Panchito Pistoles is the property of The Walt Disney Company and it's affiliates (I am not one of it's affiliates).

If anything I hope that what you've gained from this is an appreciation for what you have, and hopefully the desire to seek and discover your own creative imagination and ambitions.

**I do plan sometime in the future to make this a short film.**

All the Best,

Nothing Really Specific

* * *

I hope you guys stick around with me (and if you're looking for more Disney stuff, I have a few and TheNewIdea has some good ones too).

More Stories with Panchito Pistoles (by me):

_Panchito (Season One)_

_The City of Angels (Dedicated to Children's Hospitals)_

_Gun Rising (work in progress)_

_Panchito: The Screenplay (If I were to make a movie with Panchito, it would be this)_

_A Western Bar Scene _

_Finding Charlie Brown_

_Origin (also dedicated to J. Garay, he is a central character, work in progress)_

_Comedy Central Presents: Panchito and Puss (crossover comedy sketch between Panchito Pistoles and Puss in Boots in which they do a Comedy Central like routine- M for a reason, read at your own discretion- you have been warned)_

_Call It What You Want (crossover Panchito and Puss in Boots comedy sketch in which they roast each other on the David Letterman Show- M for a reason, read at your own discretion- you have been warned)_


End file.
